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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Purchased  from 

ALEXANDER  GOLDSTEIN 

MEMORIAL  FUND 


^ 


Photo 'd /row  life,  Sept.,  '72,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
by  0.  F.  E.  Pearsall,  Fulton  St. 

(Printed  by  C.  F.  Spieler,  Phila.) 


For  the  Eternal  Ocean  bound, 

These  ripples,  passing  surges,  streams  of  Death  and  Life. 


TWO 


RI  VUL  ETS 


Including  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS,  CENTENNIAL 
SONGS,  and  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


AUTHOR'S  EDITION. 
CAMDEN,   NEW    JERSEY. 

1876. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

WALT  WHITMAN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


Federal  St.,  Camden. 


CONTENTS. 

....of  the  WHOLE  VOLUME, 

TWO  RIVULETS. 

DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

CENTENNIAL  SONGS- -1876. 

AS  A  STRONG  BIRD  ON  PINIONS  FREE. 

MEMORANDA  DURING  THE  WAR. 

PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

( Whole  No.  of  Paget  in  the  Volume,  350.) 

of  Two  RIVULETS 

Poems. 

Page. 
Two  Rivulets 15 

Or  from  that  Sea  of  Time 16 

Eidtflona 17 

Spain,  1873-74 20 

Prayer  of  Columbus 21 

Out  from  Behind  this  Mask 24 

To  a  Locomotive  in  Winter 25 

The  Ox-Tamer 27 

Wandering  at  Morn 28 

An  Old  Man's  Thought  of  School 29 

With  all  Thy  Gifts,  &c 30 

From  My  Last  Years 30 


Page. 
In  FormerSongs 31 

After  the  Sea-Ship 32 


Prose. 

Thoughts  for  the  Centennial 15  to  22 

Nationalty  (and  Yet) 23 

Origins— Darwinism— (Then  Furthermore) 26 

New  Poetry— California,  Mississippi,  Texas 28 

Rulers  strictly  Out  of  The  Masses 30 

Fine  Manners Transportation 31 

Women  and  Conscience Freedom ., 31 


PREFACE. 


AT  the  eleventh  hour,  under  grave  illness,  I  gather  up 
the  pieces  of  Prose  and  Poetry  left  over  since  publishing,  a 
while  since,  my  first  and  main  Volume,  LEAVES  OF  GRASS 
— pieces,  here,  some  new,  some  old — nearly  all  of  them 
(sombre  as  many  are,  making  this  almost  Death's  book) 
composed  in  by-gone  atmospheres  of  perfect  health— and, 
preceded  by  the  freshest  collection,  the  little  Two  RIVU 
LETS,  and  by  this  rambling  Prefatory  gossip,*  now  send 
them  out,  embodied  in  the  present  Melange,  partly  as  my 
contribution  and  outpouring  to  celebrate,  in  some  sort,  the 
feature  of  the  time,  the  first  Centennial  of  our  New  World 
Nationality — and  then  as  chyle  and  nutriment  to  that  moral, 
Indissoluble  Union,  equally  representing  All,  and  the 
mother  of  many  coming  Centennials. 

And  e'en  for  flush  and  proof  of  our  America — for  reminder, 
just  as  much,  or  more,  in  moods  of  towering  pride  and  joy, 
I  keep  my  special  chants  of  Death  and  Immortalityt  to 

*This  Preface  is  not  only  for  the  present  collection,  but,  in  a  sort,  for  all 
my  writings,  both  Volumes. 

fPASSAGE  TO  INDIA. — -As  in  some  ancient  legend- play,  to  close  the  plot 
and  the  hero's  career,  there  is  a  farewell  gathering  on  ship's  deck  and  on 
shore,  a  loosing  of  hawsers  and  ties,  a  spreading  of  sails  to  the  wind — a  start 
ing  out  on  unknown  seas,  to  fetch  up  no  one  knows  whither— to  return  ne 
more— And  the  curtain  falls,  and  there  is  the  end  of  it— So  I  have  reserv'cl 
that  Poem,  with  its  cluster,  to  finish  and  explain  much  that,  without  them, 
would  not  be  explain'd,  and  to  take  leave,  and  escape  for  good,  from  all  that 
has  preceded  them.  (Then  probably  Passage  to  India,  and  its  cluster,  are  but 
freer  vent  and  fuller  expression  to  what,  from  the  first,  and  so  on  throughout, 
more  or  less  lurks  in  my  writings,  underneath  every  page,  every  line,  every 
where.) 

I  am  not  sure  but  the  last  enclosing  sublimation  of  Race  or  Poem  is,  What 

it  thinks  of  Death After  the  rest  has  been  comprehended  and  said,  even 

the  grandest— After  those  contributions  to  mightiest  Nationality,  or  to  sweet 
est  Song,  or  to  the  best  Personalism,  male  or  female,  have  been  glean'd  from 
the  rich  and  varied  themes  of  tangible  life,  and  have  been  fully  accepted  and 


6  Preface. 

stamp  the  coloring-finish  of  all,  present  and  past.  For  termi 
nus  and  temperer  to  all,  they  were  originally  written  ;  and 
that  shall  be  their  office  at  the  last. 

For  some  reason — not  explainable  or  definite  to  my  own 
mind,  yet  secretly  pleasing  and  satisfactory  to  it — I  have 
not  hesitated  to  embody  in,  and  run  through  the  Volume, 
two  altogether  distinct  veins,  or  strata — Politics  for  one,  and 
for  the  other,  the  pensive  thought  of  Immortality.  Thus,  too, 

the  prose  and  poetic,  the  dual  forms  of  the  present  book 

The  pictures  from  the  Hospitals  during  the  War,  in  Memo 
randa,  I  have  also  decided  to  include.  Though  they  differ  in 
character  and  composition  from  the  rest  of  my  pieces,  yet  I 

feel  that  that  they  ought  to  go  with  them,  and  must  do  so 

The  present  Voiume,  therefore,  after  its  minor  episodes, 
probably  divides  into  these  Two,  at  first  sight  far  diverse, 

sung,  and  the  pervading  fact  of  visible  existence,  with  the  duty  it  devolves,  is 
rounded  and  apparently  completed,  it  still  remains  to  be  really  completed  by 
suffusing  through  the  whole  and  several,  that  other  pervading  invisible  fact, 
so  large  a  part,  (is  it  not  the  largest  part?)  of  life  here,  combining  the  rest, 
and  furnishing,  for  Person  or  State,  the  only  permanent  and  unitary  meaning 
to  all,  even  the  meanest  life,  consistently  with  the  dignity  of  the  Universe,  in 

Time As,  from  the  eligibility  to  this  thought,  and  the  cheerful  conquest  of 

this  fact,  flash  forth  the  first  distinctive  proofs  of  the  Soul,  so  to  me,  (extend 
ing  it  only  a  little  further,)  the  ultimate  Democratic  purports,  the  ethereal 
and  spiritual  ones,  are  to  concentrate  here,  and  as  fixed  stars,  radiate  hence. 
For,  in  my  opinion,  it  is  no  less  than  this  idea  of  Immortality,  above  all  other 
ideas,  that  is  to  enter  into,  and  vivify,  and  give  crowning  religious  stamp,  to 
Democracy  in  the  New  World. 

It  was  originally  my  intention,  after  chanting  in  LEAVES  OP  GRASS  the 
songs  of  the  Body  and  Existence,  to  then  compose  a  further,  equally  need 
ed  Volume,  based  on  those  convictions  of  perpetuity  and  conservation  which, 
enveloping  all  precedents,  make  the  unseen  Soul  govern  absolutely  at  last.  I 
meant,  while  in  a  sort  continuing  the  theme  of  my  first  chants,  to  shift  the 
slides,  and  exhibit  the  problem  and  paradox  of  the  same  ardent  and  fully  ap 
pointed  Personality  entering  the  sphere  of  the  resistless  gravitation  of  Spirit 
ual  Law,  and  with  cheerful  face  estimating  Death,  not  at  all  as  the  cessation  •, 
but  as  somehow  what  I  feel  it  must  be,  the  entrance  upon  by  far  the  greatest 
part  of  existence,  and  something  that  Life  is  at  least  as  much  for,  as  it  is  for 
itself. 

But  the  full  construction  of  such  a  work  (even  if  I  lay  the  foundation,  or 
give  impetus  to  it)  is  beyond  my  powers,  and  must  remain  for  some  bard  in 
the  future.  The  physical  and  the  sensuous,  in  themselves  or  in  their  imme 
diate  continuations,  retain  holds  upon  me  which  I  think  are  never  entirely  re- 
leas'd ;  and  those  holds  I  have  not  only  not  denied,  but  hardly  wish'd  to 
weaken. 

Meanwhile,  not  entirely  to  give  the  go-by  to  my  original  plan,  and  far  more 
to  avoid  amark'd  hiatus  in  it,  than  to  entirely  fulfil  it,  I  end  my  books  with 
thoughts,  or  radiations  from  thoughts,  on  Death,  Immortality,  and  a  free 
entrance  into  the  Spiritual  world.  In  those  thoughts,  in  a  sort,  I  make  the 
first  steps  or  studies  toward  the  mighty  theme,  from  the  point  of  view  neces- 


Preface.  7 

veins  of  topic  and  treatment.  One  will  be  found  in  the 
prose  part  of  Two  RIVULETS,  in  Democratic  Vistas,  in  the 
Preface  to  As  a  Strong  Bird,  and  in  the  concluding  Xotes  to 
Memoranda  of  the  Hospitals.  The  other,  wherein  the  all-en 
grossing  thought  and  fact  of  Death  is  admitted,  (not  for  itself 
so  much  as  a  powerful  factor  in  the  adjustments  of  Life,)  in 
the  realistic  pictures  of  Memoranda,  an'd  the  free  speculations 
and  ideal  escapades  of  Passage  to  India. 

Has  not  the  time  come,  indeed,  in  the  development  of  the 
New  World,  when  its  Politics  should  ascend  into  atmospheres 
and  regions  hitherto  unknown— (far,  far  different  from  the 
miserable  business  that  of  late  and  current  years  passes  un 
der  that  name)— and  take  rank  with  Science,  Philosophy  and 

Art  ? Three  points,  in  especial,  have  become  very  dear 

to  me,  and  all  through  I  seek  to  make  them  again  and  again, 

sitated  by  my  foregoing  poems,  and  by  Modern  Science.  In  them  I  also  seek 
to  set  the  key-stone  to  my  Democracy's  enduring  arch.  I  re-collate  them  now, 
for  the  press,  (.much  the  same,  I  transcribe  my  Memoranda  following,  of 
gloomy  times  out  of  the  War,  and  Hospitals,)  in  order  to  partially  occupy  and 
offset  clays  of  strange  sickness,  and  the  heaviest  affliction  and  bereavement  of 
my  life ;  and  I  fondly  please  myself  with  the  notion  of  leaving  that  cluster  to 
you,  O  unknown  Reader  of  the  future,  as  '  something  to  remember  me  by,' 
more  especially  than  all  else.  Written  in  former  days  of  perfect  health,  little 
did  I  think  the  pieces  had  the  purport  that  now,  under  present  circumstances, 
opens  to  me. 

[As  I  write  these  lines,  May  31,  1875,  it  is  again  early  summer— again  my 
birth-day— now  my  fifty-sixth.  Amid  the  outside  beauty  and  freshness,  the 
sunlight  and  verdure  of  the  delightful  season,  O  how  different  the  moral 
atmosphere  amid  which  I  now  revise  this  Volume,  from  the  jocund  influences 
surrounding  the  growth  and  advent  of  LEAVES  OP  GRASS.  I  occupy  myself, 
arranging  these  pages  for  publication,  still  envelopt  in  thoughts  of  the  death 
two  years  since  of  my  dear  Mother,  the  most  perfect  and  magnetic  character, 
the  rarest  combination  of  practical,  moral  and  spiritual,  and  the  least  selfish, 
of  all  and  any  I  have  ever  known— and  by  me  O  so  much  the  most  deeply 

loved and  also  under  the  physical  affliction  of  a  tedious  attack  of  paralysis, 

obstinately  lingering  and  keeping  its  hold  upon  me,  and  quite  suspending  all 

bodily  activity  and  comfort I  see  now,  much  clearer  than  ever— perhaps 

these  experiences  were  needed  to  show— how  much  my  former  poems,  the  bulk 
of  them,  are  indeed  the  expression  of  health  and  strength,  and  sanest,  joyful- 
est  life.] 

Under  these  influences,  therefore,  I  still  feel  to  keep  Passage  to  India  for 
last  words  even  to  this  Centennial  dithyramb.  Not  as,  in  antiquity,  at  high 
est  festival  of  Egypt,  the  noisome  skeleton  of  Death  was  also  sent  on  exhibi 
tion  to  the  revellers,  for  zest  and  shadow  to  the  occasion's  joy  and  light— but 
as  the  perfect  marble  statue  of  the  normal  Greeks  at  Elis,  suggesting  death 
in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  and  perfect  young  man,  with  closed  eyes,  leaning 
on  an  inverted  torch— emblem  of  rest  and  aspiration  after  action— of  crown  and 
point  which  all  lives  and  poems  should  steadily  have  reference  to,  namely,  the 

ustified  and  noble  termination  of  our  identity,  this  grade  of  it,  and  outlet- pre 
paration  to  another  grade. 


8  Preface. 

in  many  forms  and  repetitions,  as  will  be  seen  :  1.  That  the 
true  growth-characteristics  of  the  Democracy  of  the  New 
World  are  henceforth  to  radiate  in  superior  Literary,  Artistic 
and  Religious  Expressions,  far  more  than  in  its  Republican 
forms,  universal  suffrage,  and  frequent  elections,  (though 
these  are  unspeakably  important) 2.  That  the  vital  politi 
cal  mission  of  The  United  States  is,  to  practically  solve  and 
settle  the  problem  of  two  sets  of  rights — the  fusion,  thorough 
compatibility  and  junction  of  individual  State  prerogatives, 
with  the  indispensable  necessity  of  centrality  and  Oneness — ' 
the  National  Identity  power— the  sovereign  Union,  relent 
less,  permanently  comprising  all,  and  over  all,  and  in  that 
never  yielding  an  inch then  3d.  Do  we  not,  amid  a  gen 
eral  malaria  of  Fogs  and  Vapors,  our  day,  unmistakably  see 
two  Pillars  of  Promise,  with  grandest,  indestructible  indica 
tions — One,  that  the  morbid  facts  of  American  politics  and 
society  everywhere  are  but  passing  incidents  and  flanges  of 
our  unbounded  impetus  of  growth — weeds,  annuals,  of  the 
rank,  rich  soil — not  central,  enduring,  perennial  things  ? — 
The  Other,  that  all  the  hitherto  experience  of  The  States, 
their  first  Century,  has  been  but  preparation,  adolescence — 
and  that  This  Union  is  only  now  and  henceforth  (i.  e.  since 
the  Secession  war)  to  enter  on  its  full  Democratic  career? 

Of  the  whole,  Poems  and  Prose,  (not  attending  at  all  to 
chronological  order,  and  with  original  dates  and  passing 
allusions  in  the  heat  and  impression  of  the  hour,  left  shuffled 
in,  and  undisturb'd,)  the  chants  of  LEAVES  OF  GRASS,  my 
former  Volume,  yet  serve  as  the  indispensable  deep  soil,  or 
basis,  out  of  which,  and  out  of  which  only,  could  come  the 
roots  and  stems  more  definitely  indicated  by  these  later 
pages.  (While  that  Volume  radiates  Physiology  alone,  the 
present  One,  though  of  the  like  origin  in  the  main,  more 
palpably  doubtless  shows  the  Pathology  which  was  pretty 
sure  to  come  in  time  from  the  other.) 

In  that  former  and  main  Volume,  composed  In  the  flush  of 
my  health  and  strength,  from  the  age  of  30  to  50  years,  I 
dwelt  on  Birth  and  Life,  clothing  my  ideas  in  pictures,  days, 
transactions  of  my  time,  to  give  them  positive  place,  identity 
— saturating  them  with  that  vehemence  of  pride  and  audacity 
of  freedom  necessary  to  loosen  the  mind  of  still-to-be-form'd 
America  from  the  accumulated  folds,  the  superstitions,  and 
all  the  long,  tenacious  and  stifling  anti-democratic  authorities 
of  the  Asiatic  and  European  past — my  enclosing  purport 
being  to  express,  above  all  artificial  regulation  and  aid,  the 
eternal  Bodily  Character  of  One's-Self.* 

^LEAVES  OF  GRASS — Namely,  a  Character,  making  most  of  common  and 
normal  elements,  to  the  superstructure  of  which  not  only  the  precious  accu 
mulations  of  the  learning  and  experiences  of  the  Old  World,  and  the  settled 
social  and  municipal  necessities  and  current  requirements,  so  long  a-building, 


Preface.  9 

The  varieties  and  phases,  (doubtless  often  paradoxical, 
contradictory.)  of  the  two  Volumes,  of  LEAVES,  and  of  these 
RIVULETS,  are  ultimately  to  be  considered  as  One  in  struc 
ture,  and  as  mutually  explanatory  of  each  other — as  the 
multiplex  results,  like  a  tree,  of  series  of  successive  growths, 
(yet  from  one  central  or  seed-purport) — there  having  been 
five  or  six  such  cumulative  issues,  editions,  commencing 
back  in  1855  and  thence  progressing  through  twenty  years 
down  to  date,  (1875-76) — some  things  added  or  re-shaped 
from  time  to  time,  as  they  were  found  wanted,  and  other 
things  represt.  Of  the  former  Book,  more  vehement,  and 
perhaps  pursuing  a  central  idea  with  greater  closeness — 

shall  still  faithfully  contribute,  but  which,  at  its  foundations  and  carried  up 
thence,  and  receiving  its  impetus  from  the  Democratic  spirit,  and  accepting 
its  gauge,  in  all  departments,  from  the  Democratic  formulas,  shall  again 
directly  be  vitalized  by  the  perennial  influences  of  Nature  at  first  hand,  and 
the  old  heroic  stamina  of  Nature,  the  strong  air  of  prairie  and  mountain,  the 
dash  of  the  briny  sea,  the  primary  antiseptics— of  the  passions,  in  all  their 
fullest  heat  and  potency,  of  courage,  rankness,  amativeness,  and  of  immense 

pride Not  to  lose  at  all,  therefore,  the  benefits  of  artificial  progress  and 

civilization,  but  to  re-occupy  for  Western  tenancy  the  oldest  though  ever- 
fresh  fields,  and  reap  from  them  the  savage  and  sane  nourishment  indispensa 
ble  to  a  hardy  nation,  and  the  absence  of  which,  threatening  to  become  worse 
and  worse,  is  the  most  serious  lack  and  defect  to-day  of  our  New  World  litera 
ture. 

Not  but  what  the  brawn  of  LEAVES  OF  GRASS  is,  I  think,  thoroughly  spirit 
ualized  everywhere,  for  final  estimate,  but,  from  the  very  subjects,  the  direct 
effect  is  a  sense  of  the  Life,  as  it  should  be,  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  physical 

urge,  and  animalism While  there  are  other  themes,  and  plenty  of  abstract 

thoughts  and  poems  in  the  Volume— While  I  have  put  in  it  (supplemented  in 
the  present  Work  by  my  prose  Memoranda,)  passing  and  rapid  but  actual 
glimpses  of  the  great  struggle  between  the  Nation  and  the  Slave-power,  (1861- 
'<;.">,)  as  the  fierce  and  bloody  panorama  of  that  contest  unroll'd  itself— While 
the  whole  Book,  indeed,  revolves  around  that  Four  Years'  War,  which,  as  1 
was  in  the  midst  of  it,  becomes,  in  Drum- Taps,  pivotal  to  the  rest  entire— fol- 
low'd  by  Marches  now  the  War  is  Over — and  here  and  there,  before  and  after 
ward,  not  a  few  episodes  and  speculations — that — namely,  to  make  a  type- 
portrait  for  living,  active,  worldly,  healthy  Personality,  objective  as  well  as 
subjective,  joyful  and  potent,  and  modern  and  free,  distinctively  for  the  use 
of  the  United  States,  male  and  female,  through  the  long  future— has  been,  I 
nay,  my  general  object.  (Probably,  indeed,  the  whole  of  these  varied  songs, 
and  all  my  writings,  both  Volumes,  only  ring  changes  in  some  sort,  on  the 
ejaculation,  How  vast,  how  eligible,  how  joyful,  how  real,  is  a  Human  Being, 
himself  or  herself.) 

Though  from  no  definite  plan  at  the  time,  I  see  now  that  I  have  uncon 
sciously  sought,  by  indirections  at  least  as  much  as  directions,  to  express  the 
whirls  and  rapid  growth  and  intensity  of  the  United  States,  the  prevailing 
tendency  and  events  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  and  largely  the  spirit  of  the 
whole  current  World,  my  time  ;  for  I  feel  that  I  have  partaken  of  that  spirit, 
as  I  have  been  deeply  interested  in  all  those  events,  the  closing  of  long- 
stretch'd  eras  and  ages,  and.  illustrated  in  the  history  of  the  United  States,  the 


10  Preface. 

join'd  with  the  present  One,  extremely  varied  in  theme — I 
can  only  briefly  reiterate  here,  that  all  my  pieces,  alternated 
through  Both,  are  only  of  use  and  value,  if  an}^,  as  such  an 
interpenetrating,  composite,  inseparable  Unity. 

Two  of  the  pieces  in  this  Volume  were  originally  Public 
Recitations — the  College  Commencement  Poem,  As  a  Strong 
Bird — and  then  the  Song  of  the  Exposition,  to  identify  these 
great  Industrial  gatherings,  the  majestic  outgrowths  of  the 
Modern  Spirit  and  Practice — and  now  fix'd  upon,  the  grand 
est  of  them,  for  the  Material  event  around  which  shall  be 
concentrated  and  celebrated,  (as  far  as  any  one  event  can 

opening  of  larger  ones.  (The  death  of  President  Lincoln,  for  instance,  fitly, 
historically  closes,  in  the  Civilization  of  Feudalism,  many  old  influences- 
drops  on  them,  suddenly,  a  vast,  gloomy,  as  it  were,  separating  curtain.  The 
world's  entire  dramas  afford  none  more  indicative— none  with  folds  more 
tragic,  or  more  sombre  or  far  spreading.) 

Since  I  have  been  ill,  (1873-74-75,)  mostly  without  serious  pain,  and  with 
plenty  of  time  and  frequent  inclination  to  judge  my  poems,  (never  composed 
with  eye  on  the  book-market,  nor  for  fame,  nor  for  any  pecuniary  profit,)  I 
have  felt  temporary  depression  more  than  once,  for  fear  that  in  LEAVES  OF 
GRASS  the  moral  parts  were  not  sufficiently  pronounc'd.  But  in  my  clearest 
and  calmest  moods  I  have  realized  that  as  those  LEAVES,  all  and  several, 
surely  prepare  the  way  for,  and  necessitate  Morals,  and  are  adjusted  to  them, 
just  the  same  as  Nature  does  and  is,  they  are  what,  consistently  with  my  plan, 

they  must  and  probably  should  be (In  a  certain  sense,  while  the  Moral  is 

the  purport  and  last  intelligence  of  all  Nature,  there  is  absolutely  nothing  of. 
the  moral  in  the  works,  or  laws,  or  shows  of  Nature.  Those  only  lead  inevi 
tably  to  it— begin  and  necessitate  it.) 

Then  I  meant  LEAVES  OP  GRASS,  as  published,  to  be  the  Poem  of  Identity, 
(of  Fours,  whoever  you  are,  now  reading  these  lines) For  genius  must  re 
alize  that,  precious  as  it  may  be,  there  is  something  far  more  precious,  name 
ly,  simple  Identity,  One's-self.  A  man  is  not  greatest  as  victor  in  war,  nor 
inventor  or  explorer,  nor  even  in  science,  or  in  his  intellectual  or  artistic 
capacity,  or  exemplar  in  some  vast  benevolence.  To  the  highest  Democratic 
view,  man  is  most  acceptable  in  living  well  the  average,  practical  life  and  lot 
which  happens  to  him  as  ordinary  farmer,  sea-farer,  mechanic,  clerk,  laborer, 
or  driver— upon  and  from  which  position  as  a  central  basis  or  pedestal,  while 
performing  its  labors,  and  his  duties  as  citizen,  son,  husband,  father  and  em 
ployed  person,  he  preserves  his  physique,  ascends,  developing,  radiating  him 
self  in  other  regions— and  especially  where  and  when,  (greatest  of  all,  and 
nobler  than  the  proudest  mere  genius  or  magnate  in  any  field,)  he  fully  re 
alizes  the  Conscience,  the  Spiritual,  the  divine  faculty,  cultivated  well,  ex 
emplified  in  all  his  deeds  and  words,  through  life,  uncompromising  to  the  end 
—a  flight  loftier  than  any  of  Homer's  or  Shakspere's— broader  than  all 
poems  and  bibles— namely,  Nature's  own,  and  in  the  midst  of  it,  Yourself, 
your  own  Identity,  body  and  soul.  (All  serves,  helps— but  in  the  centre  of  all. 
absorbing  all,  giving,  for  your  purpose,  the  only  meaning  and  vitality  to  all, 

master  or  mistress  of  all,  under  the  law,  stands  Yourself.) To  sing  the  Song 

of  that  divine  law  of  Identity,  and  of  Yourself,  consistently  with  the  Divine 
Law  of  the  Universal,  is  a  main  intention  of  those  LEAVES. 


Preface.  11 

combine  them,)  the  associations  and  practical  proofs  of  the 
Hundred  Years'  life  of  the  Republic.  The  glory  of  Labor, 
and  the  bringing  together  not  only  representatives  of  all  the 
trades  and  products,  but,  fraternally,  of  all  the  Workmen  of 
all  the  Nations  of  the  World,  (for  this  is  the  Idea  behind 
the  Centennial  at  Philadelphia,)  is,  to  me,  so  welcome  and 
inspiring  a  theme,  that  I  only  wish  I  were  a  younger  and  a 
fresher  man,  to  attempt  the  enduring  Book,  of  poetic  char 
acter,  that  ought  to  be  written  about  it. 

The  arrangement  in  print  of  Two  RIVULETS— the- indi 
rectness  of  the  name  itself,  (suggesting  meanings,  the  start 
of  other  meanings,  for  the  whole  Volume) — are  but  parts  of 
the  Venture  which  my  Poems  entirely  are.  For  really  they 
have  all  been  Experiments,  under  the  urge  of  powerful, 
quite  irresistible,  perhaps  wilful  influences,  (even  escapades,) 
to  see  how  such  things  will  eventually  turn  out — and  have 
been  recited,  as  it  were,  by  my  Soul,  to  the  special  audience 

Something  more  may  be  added— for,  while  I  am  about  it,  I  would  make  a 
full  confession.  I  also  sent  out  LEAVES  OF  GRASS  to  arouse  and  set  flowing 
in  men's  and  women's  hearts,  young  and  old,  (my  present  and  future  readers,) 
endless  streams  of  living,  pulsating  love  and  friendship,  directly  from  them 
to  myself,  now  and  ever.  To  this  terrible,  irrepressible  yearning,  (surely 
more  or  less  down  underneath  in  most  human  souls,) — this  never-satisfied  ap 
petite  for  sympathy,  and  this  boundless  offering  of  sympathy — this  universal 
democratic  comradeship— this  old,  eternal,  yet  ever-new  interchange  of  ad 
hesiveness,  so  fitly  emblematic  of  America — I  have  given  in  that  book,  undis- 

guisedly,  declaredly,  the  openest  expression Poetic  literature  has  long 

been  the  formal  and  conventional  tender  of  art  and  beauty  merely,  and  of  a 
narrow,  constipated,  special  amativeness.  I  say,  the  subtlest,  sweetest,  surest 
tie  between  me  and  Him  or  Her,  who,  in  the  pages  of  Calamus  and  other 
pieces  realizes  me— though  we  never  see  each  other,  or  though  ages  and  ages 
hence — must,  in  this  way,  be  personal  affection.  And  those — be  they  few,  or 
be  they  many— are  at  any  rate  my  readers,  in  a  sense  that  belongs  not,  and 
can  never  belong,  to  better,  prouder  poems. 

Besides,  important  as  they  are  in  my  purpose  as  emotional  expressions  for 
humanity,  the  special  meaning  of  the  Calamus  cluster  of  LEAVES  OP  GRASS, 
(and  more  or  less  running  through  that  book,  and  cropping  out  in  Drum- Taps,) 
mainly  resides  in  its  Political  significance.  In  my  opinion  it  is  by  a  fervent, 
accepted  development  of  Comradeship,  the  beautiful  and  sane  affection  of 
man  for  man,  latent  in  all  the  young  fellows,  North  and  South,  East  and  West 
—it  is  by  this,  I  say,  and  by  what  goes  directly  and  indirectly  along  with  it, 
that  the  United  States  of  the  future,  (I  cannot  too  often  repeat,)  are  to  be 
most  effectually  welded  together,  intercalated,  anneal'd  into  a  Living  Union. 

Then,  for  enclosing  clue  of  all,  it  is  imperatively  and  ever  to  be  borne  in 
mind  that  LEAVES  OP  GRASS  entire  is  not  to  be  construed  as  an  intellectual 
or  scholastic  effort  or  Poem  mainly,  but  more  as  a  radical  utterance  out  of 
the  abysms  of  the  Soul,  the  Emotions  and  the  Physique— an  utterance  ad 
justed  to,  perhaps  born  of,  Democracy  and  Modern  Science,  and  in  its  very 
nature  regardless  of  the  old  conventions,  and,  under  the  great  Laws,  following 
only  its  own  impulses. 


12  Preface. 

of  Myself,  far  more  than  to  the  world's  audience.  [See,  fur 
ther  on,  Preface  of  As  a  Strong  Bird,  &c.,  1872-1  Till  now, 
by  far  the  best  part  of  the  whole  business  is,  that,  these  days, 
in  leisure,  in  sickness  and  old  age,  my  Spirit,  by  which  they 
were  written  or  permitted  ere  while,  does  not  go  back  on 
them,  but  still  and  in  calmest  hours,  fully,  deliberately 
allows  them. 

Estimating  the  American  Union  as  so  far  and  for  some 
time  to  come,  in  its  yet  formative  condition,!  therefore  now 
bequeath  Poems  and  Essays  as  nutriment  and  influences  to 
help  truly  assimilate  and  harden,  and  especially  to  furnish 
something  toward  what  The  States  most  need  of  all,  and 
which  seems  to  me  yet  quite  misapplied  in  literature,  name 
ly,  to  show  them,  or  begin  to  show  them,  Themselves  dis 
tinctively,  and  what  They  are  for.  For  though  perhaps  the 
main  points  of  all  ages  and  nations  are  points  of  resemblance, 
and,  even  while  granting  evolution,  are  substantially  the 
same,  there  are  some  vital  things  in  which  this  Republic,  as 
to  its  Individualities,  and  as  a  compacted  Nation,  is  to  spe 
cially  stand  forth,  and  culminate  modern  humanity.  And 
these  are  the  very  things  it  least  morally  and  mentally 
knows — (though,  curiously  enough,  it  is  at  the  same  time 
faithfully  acting  upon  them.) 

I  count  with  such  absolute  certainty  on  the  Great  Future 
of  The  United  States— different  from,  though  founded  on, 
the  past — that  I  have  always  invoked  that  Future,  and  sur 
rounded  myself  with  it,  before  or  while  singing  my  Songs.... 
(As  ever,  all  tends  to  followings — America,  too,  is  a  pro 
phecy.  What,  even  of  the  best  arid  most  successful,  would 
be  justified  by  itself  alone  ?  by  the  present,  or  the  material 
ostent  alone?  Of  men  or  States,  few  realize  how  much 
they  live  in  the  future.  That,  rising  like  pinnacles,  gives  its 
main  significance  to  all  You  and  I  are  doing  to-day.  With 
out  it,  there  were  little  meaning  in  lands  or  poems— little 

purport  in  human  lives All  ages,  all  Nations  and  States, 

have  been  such  prophecies.  But  where  any  former  ones 
with  prophecy  so  broad,  so  clear,  as  our  times,  our  lands — 
as  those  of  the  West  ?) 

Without  being  a  Scientist,  I  have  thoroughly  adopted  the 
conclusions  of  the  great  Savans  and  Experimentalists  of  our 
time,  and  of  the  last  hundred  years,  and  they  have  interiorly 
tinged  the  chyle  of  all  my  verse,  for  purposes  beyond.  Fol 
lowing  the  Modern  Spirit,  the  real  Poems  of  the  Present, 
ever  solidifying  and  expanding  into  the  Future,  must  vocalize 
the  vastness  and  splendor  and  reality  with  which  Scientism 
has  invested  Man  and  the  Universe  (all  that  is  called  Crea 
tion,)  and  must  henceforth  launch  Humanity  into  new  orbits, 
consonant  with  that  vastness,  splendor,  and  reality,  (un 
known  to  the  old  poems,)  like  new  systems  of  orbs,  balanced 


Preface.  13 

upon  themselves,  revolving  in  limitless  space,  more  subtle 
than  the  stars.  Poetry,  so  largely  hitherto  and  even  at  pre 
sent  wedded  to  children's  tales,  and  to  mere  amorousness,  up 
holstery  and  superficial  rhyme,  will  have  to  accept,  and, 
while  not  denying  the  Past,  nor  the  Themes  of  the  past,  will 
be  revivified  by,  this  tremendous  innovation,  the  Kosmic 
Spirit,  which  must  henceforth,  in  my  opinion,  be  the  back 
ground  and  underlying  impetus,  more  or  less  visible,  of  all 
first-class  Songs. 

Only,  (for  me,  at  at  any  rate,  in  all  my  Prose  and  Poetry,) 
joyfully  accepting  Modern  Science,  and  loyally  following  it 
without  the  slightest  hesitation,  there  remains  ever  recog 
nized  still  a  higher  flight,  a  higher  fact,  the  Eternal  Soul  of 
Man,  (of  all  Else  too,)  the  Spiritual,  the  Religious — which  it 
is  to  be  the  greatest  office  of  Scientism,  in  my  opinion,  and 
of  future  Poetry  also,  to  free  from  fables,  crudities  and  super 
stitions,  and  launch  forth  in  renewed  Faith  and  Scope  a  hun 
dred  fold.  To  me,  the  worlds  of  Religiousness,  of  the  con 
ception  of  the  Divine,  and  of  the  Ideal,  though  mainly  la 
tent;  are  just  as  absolute  in  Humanity  and  the  Universe  as 
the  world  of  Chemistry,  or  any  thing  in  the  objective  worlds. 
To  me, 

The  Prophet  and  the  Bard, 

Shall  yet  maintain  themselves — in  higher  circles  yet, 
Shall  mediate  to  the  Modern,  to  Democracy — interpret  yet  to  them, 

God  and  Eidolons. 

To  me,  the  crown  of  Savantism  is  to  be,  that  it  surely 
opens  the  way  for  a  more  splendid  Theology,  and  for  ampler 
and  diviner  Songs.  No  year,  nor  even  century,  will  settle 
this.  There  is  a  phase  of  the  Real,  lurking  behind  the  Real, 
which  it  is  all  for.  There  is  also  in  the  Intellect  of  man,  in 
time,  far  in  prospective  recesses,  a  judgment,  a  last  appellate 
court,  which  will  settle  it. 

In  certain  parts,  in  these  flights,  or  attempting  to  depict 
or  suggest  them,  I  have  not  been  afraid  of  the  charge  of  ob 
scurity,  in  either  of  my  Two  Volumes — because  human 
thought,  poetry  or  melody,  must  leave  dim  escapes  and  out 
lets — must  possess  a  certain  fluid,  serial  character,  akin  to 
space  itself,  obscure  to  those  of  little  or  no  imagination,  but 
indispensable  to  the  highest  purposes.  Poetic  style,  when 
address'd  to  the  Soul,  is  less  definite  form,  outline,  sculp 
ture,  and  becomes  vista,  music,  half-tints,  and  even  less  than 
half-tints.  True,  it  may  be  architecture  ;  but  again  it  may 
be  the  forest  wild-wood,  or  the  best  eifects  thereof,  at 
twilight,  the  waving  oaks  and  cedars  in  the  wind,  and  the 
impalpable  odor. 

Finally,  as  1  have  lived  in  fresh  lands,  inchoate,  and  in  a 
revolutionary  age,  future-founding,  I  have  felt  to  identify 


14  Preface. 

the  points  of  that  age,  these  lands,  in  my  recitatives,  alto 
gether  in  my  own  way.  Thus  my  form  has  strictly  grown 

from  my  purports  and  facts,  and  is  the  analogy  of  them 

Within  my  time  the  United  States  have  emerg'd  from  nebu 
lous  vagueness  and  suspense,  to  full  orbic,  (though  varied) 
decision — have  done  the  deeds  and  achieved  the  triumphs  of 
half  a  score  of  centuries — and  are  henceforth  to  enter  upon 
their  real  history — the  way  being  now,  (i.  e.  since  the  result 
of  the  Secession  War,)  clear'd  of  death-threatening  impedi 
menta,  and  the  free  areas  around  and  ahead  of  us  assured 
and  certain,  which  were  not  so  before — (the  past  century 
being  but  preparations,  trial-voyages  and  experiments  of  the 
Ship,  before  her  starting  out  upon  deep  water.) 

In  estimating  my  Volumes,  the  world's  current  times  and 
deeds,  and  their  spirit,  must  be  first  profoundly  estimated. 
Out  of  the  Hundred  Years  just  ending,  (1776-1876,)  with  their 
genesis  of  inevitable  wilful  events,  and  new  introductions, 
and  many  unprecedented  things  of  war  and  peace,  (to  be 
realized  better,  perhaps  only  realized,  at  the  remove  of 
another  Century  hence) — Out  of  that  stretch  of  time,  and 
especially  out  of  the  immediately  preceding  Twenty-Five 
Years,  (1850-75,)  with  all  their  rapid  changes,  innovations, 
and  audacious  movements — and  bearing  their  own  inevitable 
wilful  birth-marks — my  Poems  too  have  found  genesis. 

w.  w. 


Two  Rivulets  side  by  side, 

Two  blended,  parallel,  strolling  tides, 

Companions,  travelers,  gossiping  as  they  journey. 

For  the  Eternal  Ocean  bound, 

These  ripples,  passing  surges,  streams  of  Death  and  Life, 

Object  and  Subject  hurrying,  whirling  by, 

The  Real  and  Ideal, 

Alternate  ebb  and  flow  the  Days  and  Nights, 
(Strands  of  a  Trio  twining,  Present,  Future,  Past.) 

In  You,  whoe'er  you  are,  my  book  perusing, 

In  I  myself— in  all  the  World— these  ripples  flow, 

All,  all,  toward  the  mystic  Ocean  tending. 

(O  yearnful  waves !  the  kisses  of  your  lips  ! 
Your  breast  so  broad,  with  open  arms,  0  firm,  expanded 
shore  !) 


THOUGHTS  FOB  THE  CENTENNIAL. — Thoughts  even  for 

America's  first  Centennial,  (as  for  others,  certainly  waiting  folded  in  hidden 
train,  to  duly  round  and  complete  their  circles,  mightier  and  mightier  in  the 
future,)  do  not  need  to  be,  and  probably  cannot  be,  literally  originated,  (for 
all  thoughts  are  old,)  so  much  as  they  need  to  escape  from  too  vehement 
temporary  coloring,  and  from  all  narrow  and  merely  local  influences — and 
also  from" the  coloring  and  shaping  through  European  feudalism — and  still 
need  to  be  averaged  by  the  scale  of  the  Centuries,  from  their  point  of  view 
entire,  and  presented  thence,  conformably  to  the  freedom  and  vastness  of 

modern  science And  even  out  of  a  Hundred  Years,  and  on  their  scale,  how 

small  were  the  best  thoughts,  poems,  conclusions  and  products,  except  for  a 
certain  invariable  resemblance  and  uniform  standard  in  the  final  thoughts, 
theology,  poems,  &c.,  of  all  nations,  all  civilizations,  all  centuries  and  times. 
Those  precious  legacies— accumulations !  They  come  to  us  from  the  far-oft' 
— from  all  eras,  and  all  lands — from  Egypt,  and  India,  and  Greece  and  Rome 
—and  along  through  the  middle  and  later  ages,  in  the  grand  monarchies  of 
Europe — born  under  far  different  institutes  and  conditions  from  ours — but  out 
of  the  insight  and  inspiration  of  the  same  old  Humanity— the  same  old  heart 

and  brain — the  same  old  countenance  yearningly,  pensively  looking  forth 

Strictly  speaking,  they  are  indeed  none  of  them  new,  and  are  indeed  not  ours 
originally— ours,  however,  by  inheritance.  What  we  have  to  do  to-day  is  to 
receive  them  cheerfully,  ana  to  give  them  ensemble,  and  a  modern  American 
and  Democratic  physiognomy. 


16  Two  Rivulets. 

<N/^^NX>^\y>XN/>rf^XV/\XV/XXNXNXXXXXN/>XNXN 

OR  FROM  THAT  SEA  OF  TIME. 

i 

OR,  from  that  Sea  of  Time, 

Spray,  blown  by  the  wind — a  double  winrow-drift  of  weeds 

and  shells  ; 
(O  little  shells,  so  curious-convolute  !   SQ  limpid-cold  and 

voiceless ! 

Yet  will  you  not,  to  the  tympans  of  temples  held, 
Murmurs  and  echoes  still  bring  up — Eternity's  music,  faint 

and  far, 
Wafted  inland,  sent  from   Atlantica's  rim — strains  for  the 

Soul  of  the  Prairies, 
Whisper'd  reverberations — chords  for  the  ear  of  the  West, 

joyously  sounding 

Your  tidings  old,  yet  ever  new  and  untranslatable  ;) 
Infinitessimals  out  of  my  life,  and  many  a  life, 
(For  not  my  life  and  years  alone  I  give — all,  all  I  give  ;) 
These  thoughts  and  Songs — waifs  from  the  deep — here,  cast 

high  and  dry, 
Wash'd  on  America's  shores. 


Currents  of  starting  a  Continent  new, 

Overtures  sent  to  the  solid  out  of  the  liquid, 

Fusion  of  ocean  and  land — tender  and  pensive  waves, 

(Not  safe  and  peaceful  only — waves  rous'd  and  ominous  too, 

Out  of  the  depths,  the  storm's  abysms — Who  knows  whence  ? 

Death's  waves, 
Raging  over  the  vast,  with  many  a  broken  spar  and  tatter'd 

sail.) 


IN  THOUGHTS  for  the  Centennial,  I  need  not  add  to  the 

multiform  and  swelling  preans,  the  self-laudation,  the  congratulatory  voices, 
and  the  bringing  to  the  front,  and  domination  to-day,  of  Material  Wealth, 
Products,  Goods,  Inventive  Smartness,  &c.,  (all  very  well,  may-be.)  But, 
just  for  a  change,  I  feel  like  presenting  these  two  reflections : 

1.  Of  most  foreign  countries,  small  or  large,  from  the  remotest  times  known, 
down  to  our  own,  each  has  contributed  after  its  kind,  directly  or  indirectly, 
at  least  one  great  undying  Song,  to  help  vitalize  and  increase  the  valor,  wis 
dom,  and  elegance  of  Humanity,  from  the  points  of  view  attainM  by  it  up  to 
date.  The  stupendous  epics  of  India,  the  holy  Bible  itself,  the  Homeric  can 
ticles,  the  Nibelungen,  the  Cid  Campeador,  the  Inferno,  Shakspere's  dramas 
of  the  passions  and  of  the  feudal  lords,  Burns's  songs.  Goethe's  in  Germany, 
Tennyson's  poems  in  England.  Victor  Hugo's  in  France,  and  many  more,  are 
the  widely  various  yet  integral  signs  or  land-marks,  (in  certain  respects  the 
highest  set  up  by  the  human  mind  and  soul,  beyond  science,  invention,  politi 
cal  amelioration,  &c.,)  narrating  in  subtlest,  best  ways,  the  long,  long  routes 
of  History,  and  giving  identity  to  the  stages  arrived  at  by  aggregate  Human 
ity,  and  the  conclusions  assumed  in  its  progressive  and  varied  civilizations 

Where  is  America's  art-rendering-,  in  any  thing  like  the  spirit  worthy  of  her 
self  and  the  modern,  to  these  characteristic  immortal  monuments'.' 


Two  Rivulets.  17 


EIDOLONS. 

I  MET  a  Seer, 

Passing  the  hues  and  objects  of  the  world, 
The  fields  of  art  and  learning,  pleasure,  sense, 

To  glean  Eidolons. 

Put  in  thy  chants,  said  he, 
No  more  the  puzzling  hour,  nor  day — nor  segments,  parts, 

put  in, 
Put  first  before  the  rest,  as  light  for  all,  and  entrance-song 

of  all, 
That  of  Eidolons. 

Ever  the  dim  beginning  ; 
Ever  the  growth,  the  rounding  of  the  circle  ; 
Ever  the  summit,  and  the  merge   at  last,  (to  surely  start 
again,) 

Eidolons!  Eidolons! 

Ever  the  mutable  ! 

Ever  materials,  changing,  crumbling,  re-cohering ; 
Ever  the  ateliers,  the  factories  divine, 

Issuing  Eidolons ! 

Lo  !  I  or  you  I 

Or  woman,  man,  or  State,  known  or  unknown  ; 
We  seeming  solid  wealth,  strength,  beauty  build, 

But  really  build  Eidolons. 

The  ostent  evanescent ; 

The  substance  of  an  artist's  mood,  or  savan's  studies  long. 
Or  warrior's,  martyr's,  hero's  toils, 

To  fashion  his  Eidolon. 


2.  So  far,  in  America,  our  Democratic  Society,  (estimating  its  variou8 
strata,  in  the  mass,  as  one,)  possesses  nothing — nor  have  we  contributed  any 
characteristic  music,  the  finest  tie  of  Nationality— to  make  up  for  that  glow 
ing,  blood-throbbing,  religious,  social,  emotional,  artistic,  indefinable,  inde 
scribably  beautiful  charm  and  hold  which  fused  the  separate  parts  of  the  old 
Feudal  societies  together  in  their  wonderful  inter  penetration,  in  Europe  and 
Asia,  of  love,  belief  and  loyalty,  running  one  way  like  a  living  weft — and 
picturesque  responsibility,  duty  and  blessedness,  running  like  a  warp  the 
other  way.  (In  the  Southern  States,  under  Slavery,  much  of  the  same.).. -In 
coincidence,  and  as  things  now  exist  in  The  States,  what  is  more  terrible, 
more  alarming,  than  the  total  want  of  any  such  fusion  and  mutuality  of  love, 
belief  and  rapport  of  interest,  between  the  comparatively  few  successful  rich, 

and  the  great  massess  of  the  unsuccessful,  the  poor? As  a  mixed  political 

and  social  question,  is  not  this  full  of  dark  significance?    Is  it  not  worth  con 
sidering  as  a  problem  and  puzzle  in  our  Democracy— an  indispensable  want 
to  be  supplied  ? 
3 


18  Two  Rivulets. 


Of  every  human  life, 
(The  units  gather'd,  posted — not  a  thought,  emotion,  deed, 

left  out ;) 
The  whole,  or  large  or  small,  summ'd,  added  up, 

In  its  Eidolon. 

The  old,  old  urge  ; 

Based  on  the  ancient  pintiacles,  lo  !  newer,  higher  pinnacles ; 
From  Science  and  the  Modern  still  impell'd, 

The  old,  old  urge,  Eidolons. 

The  present,  now  and  here, 
America's  busy,  teeming,  intricate  whirl, 
Of  aggregate  and  segregate,  for  only  thence  releasing, 

To-day's  Eidolons. 

These,  with  the  past, 

Of  vanish'd  lands — of  all  the  reigns  of  kings  across  the  sea. 
Old  conquerors,  old  campaigns,  old  sailors'  voyages, 

Joining  Eidolons. 

Densities,  growth,  fagades, 
Strata  of  mountains,  soils,  rocks,  giant  trees, 
Far-born,  far-dying,  living  long,  to  leave, 

Eidolons  everlasting. 

Exalte,  rapt,  extatic, 
The  visible  but  their  womb  of  birth, 
Of  orbic  tendencies  to  shape,  and  shape,  and  shape. 

The  mighty  Earth-Eidolon. 


DEMOCRACY  in  the  New  World,  estimated  and  summ'd- 

up  to-day,  having  thoroughly  justified  itself  the  past  hundred  years,  (as  far  a» 
growth,  vitality  and  power  are  concern'd,)  by  severest  and  most  varied  trials 
of  peace  and  war,  and  having  establish'd  itself  for  good,  with  all  its  necessi 
ties  ard  benefits,  for  time  to  come,  is  now  to  be  seriously  consider 'd  also  in  its 
pronoune'd  and  already  developt  dangers.  While  the  battle  was  raging,  and 
the  result  suspended,  all  defections  and  criticisms  were  to  be  hush'd,  and 
every  thing  bent  with  vehemence  unmitigated  toward  the  urge  of  victory. 
But  that  victory  settled,  new  responsibilities  advance.  I  can  conceive  of  no 
better  service  in  the  United  States,  henceforth,  by  Democrats  of  thorough 
and  heart-felt  faith,  than  boldly  exposing  the  weakness,  liabilities  and  infi 
nite  corruptions  of  Democracy. By  the  unprecedented  opening-up  of  Hu 
manity  en-masse  in  the  United  States,  the  last  hundred  years,  under  our  in 
stitutions,  not  only  the  good  qualities  of  the  race,  but  just  as  much  the  bad 
ones,  are  prominently  brought  forward,  Man  is  about  the  same,  in  the  main, 
whether  with  despotism,  or  whether  with  freedom. 

"  The  ideal  form  of  human  society,"  Canon  Kingsley  declares,  "  is  demo 
cracy.  A  nation — and  were  it  even  possible,  a  whole  world — of  free  men, 
lifting  free  foreheads  to  God  and  Nature  ;  calling  no  man  master,  for  One  is 
their  master,  even  God ;  knowing  and  doing  their  duties  toward  the  Maker 
of  the  Universe,  and  therefore  to  each  other;  not  from  fear,  nor  calculation 
of  profit  or  loss,  but  because  they  have  seen  the  beauty  of  righteousness,  and 
trust,  and  peace ;  because  the  laV  of  God  is  in  their  hearts.  Such  a  nation— 


Two  Rivulets.  19 


All  space,  all  time, 

(The  stars,  the  terrible  perturbations  of  the  suns, 
Swelling,  collapsing,  ending — serving  their  longer,  shorter 
use,) 

FilPd  with  Eidolons  only. 

The  noiseless  myriads ! 
The  infinite  oceans  where  the  rivers  empty  ! 
The  separate,  countless  free  identities,  like  eyesight ; 

The  true  realities,  Eidolons. 

Not  this  the  World, 

Nor  these  the  Universes — they  the  Universes, 
Purport  and  end — ever  the  permanent  life  of  life, 

Eidolons,  Eidolons. 

Bej'ond  thy  lectures,  learn'd  professor, 
Beyond  thy  telescope  or  spectroscope,  observer  keen— be 
yond  all  mathematics, 
Beyond  the  doctor's  surgery,  anatomy— beyond  the  chemist 

with  his  chemistry, 
The  entities  of  entities,  Eidolons. 

Unfix'd,yet  fix'd; 

Ever  shall  be — ever  have  been,  and  are, 
Sweeping  the  present  to  the  infinite  future, 

Eidolons,  Eidolons,  Eidolons. 

The  prophet  and  the  bard, 

Shall  yet  maintain  themselves— in  higher  stages  yet, 
Shall  mediate  to  the  Modern,  to  Democracy— interpret  yet 
to  them, 

God,  and  Eid61ons. 


such  a  society — what  nobler  conception  of  moral  existence  can  we  form? 
Would  not  that,  indeed,  be  the  kingdom  of  God  come  on  earth?" 

To  this  faith,  founded  in  the  Practical  as  well  as  the  Ideal,  let  us  hold— 
and  never  abandon  or  lose  it ! Then  what  a  spectacle  is  practically  exhibit 
ed  by  our  American  Democracy  to-day ! 

THOUGH  I  think  I  fully  comprehend  the  absence  of  moral 

tone  in  our  current  politics  and  business,  and  the  almost  entire  futility  of  ab 
solute  and  simple  honor  as  a  counterpoise  against  the  enormous  greed  for 
worldly  wealth,  with  the  trickeries  of  gaining  it,  all  through  society  our  day, 
I  still  do  not  share  the  depression  and  despair  on  the  subject  which  I  find 
possessing  many  good  people.  The  advent  of  America,  the  history  of  the 
past  century,  has  been  the  first  general  aperture  and  opening-up  to  the 
average  Human  Commonalty,  on  the  broadest  scale,  of  the  eligibilities  to 
wealth  and  worldly  success  and  eminence,  and  has  been  fully  taken  advan 
tage  of;  and  the  example  has  spread  hence,  in  ripples,  to  all  nations.  To 
these  eligibilities— to  this  limitless  aperture,  the  race  has  tended,  en-masse, 
roaring  and  rushing  and  crude,  and  fiercely,  turbidly  hastening— and  we  have 
seen  the  first  stages,  and  are  now  in  the  midst  of  the  result  of  it  all,  so  far.... 
But  there  will  certainly  ensue  other  stages,  and  entirely  different  ones.  In 


20  Two  Rivulets. 


And  thee,  My  Soul! 
Joys,  ceaseless  exercises,  exaltations  ! 
Thy  yearning  amply  fed  at  last,  prepared  to  meet, 

Thy  mates,  Eidolons. 

Thy  Body  permanent, 
The  Body  lurking  there  within  thy  Body, 
The  only  purport  of  the  Form  thou  art— the  real  I  myself, 

An  image,  an  Eidolon. 

Thy  very  songs,  not  in  thy  songs ; 
No  special  strains  to  sing— none  for  itself ; 
But  from  the  whole  resulting,  rising  at  last  and  floating, 

A  round,  full-orb'd  Eidolon. 


SPAIN,  1873-74. 

OUT  of  the  murk  oi  heaviest  clouds, 

Out  of  the  feudal  wrecks,  and  heap'd-up  skeletons  of  kings, 

Out  of  that  old  entire  European  debris— the  shattered  mum 
meries, 

Ruin'd  cathedrals,  crumble  of  palaces,  tombs  of  priests, 

Lo  I  Freedom's  features,  fresh,  undirnm'd,  look  forth— the 
same  immortal  face  looks  forth : 

(A  glimpse  as  of  thy  Mother's  face,  Columbia, 

A  flash  significant  as  of  a  sword, 

Beaming  towards  thee.) 

Nor  think  we  forget  thee.  Maternal ; 

Lag'd'st  thou  so  long  ?    Shall  the  clouds  close  again  upon 

thee  ? 
Ah,  but  thou  hast  Thyself  now  appear'd  to  us— we  know 

thee  ; 

Thou  hast  given  us  a  sure  proof,  the  glimpse  of  Thyself ; 
Thou  waitest  there,  as  everywhere,  thy  time. 


nothing  is  there  more  evolution  than  the  American  mind.  Soon,  it  will  be 
fully  realized  that  ostensible  wealth  and  money-making,  show,  luxury,  &c., 
imperatively  necessitate  something  beyond — namely,  the  sane,  eternal  moral 
;ind  spiritual-esthetic  attributes,  elements.  (We  cannot  have  even  that  real 
ization  on  any  less  terms  than  the  price  we  are  now  paying  for  it.)  Soon,  it 
will  be  understood  clearly,  that  the  State  cannot  flourish,  (nay,  cannot  exist,) 
without  those  elements.  They  will  gradually  enter  into  the  chyle  of  sociology 
in  id  literature.  They  will  finally  make  the  blood  and  the  brawn  of  the  best 
American  Individualities  of  both  sexes— and  thus,  with  them,  to  a  certainty, 
(through  thene  very  processes  of  to-day,)  dominate  the  New  World. 


Two  Rivulets.  21 


PRAYER  OF  COLUMBUS. 

IT  was  near  the  close  of  his  indomitable  and  pious  life— on  his  last  voyage 
when  nearly  70  years  of  age— that  Columbus,  to  save  his  two  remaining  ships 
from  foundering  in  the  Caribbean  Sea  in  a  terrible  storm,  had  to  run  them 
ashore  on  the  Island  of  Jamaica— where,  laid  up  for  a  long  and  miserable 
year — 1503— he  was  taken  very  sick,  had  several  relapses,  his  men  revolted, 
and  death  seem'd  daily  imminent ;  though  he  was  eventually  rescued,  and 

sent  home  to  Spain  to  die,  unrecognized,  neglected  and  in  want It  is  only 

ask'd,  as  preparation  and  atmosphere  for  the  following  lines,  that  the  bare 
authentic  facts  be  recall'd  and  realized,  and  nothing  contributed  by  the 
fancy.  See,  the  Antillean  Island,  with  its  florid  skies  and  rich  foliage  and 
scenery,  the  waves  beating  the  solitary  sands,  and  the  hulls  of  the  ships  in  the 
distance.  See,  the  figure  of  the  great  Admiral,  walking  the  beach,  as  a  stage, 
in  this  sublimest  tragedy — for  what  tragedy,  what  poem,  so  piteous  and  ma 
jestic  as  the  real  scene?— and  hear  him  uttering-^-as  his  mystical  and  religious 
soul  surely  utter'd,  the  ideas  following— perhaps,  in  their  equivalents,  the 
very  words. 

A  BATTER 'D,  wreck'd  old  man, 

Thrown  on  this  savage  shore,  far,  far  from  home, 

Pent  by  the  sea,  and  dark  rebellious  brows,  twelve  dreary 

months, 

Sore,  stiff  with  many  toils,  sicken'd,  and  nigh  to  death, 
I  take  my  way  along  the  island's  edge, 
Tenting  a  heavy  heart. 

I  am  too  full  of  woe ! 

Haply,  I  may  not  live  another  day ; 

I  can  not  rest,  O  God— I  can  not  eat  or  drink  or  sleep, 

Till  I  put  forth  forth  myself,  my  prayer,  once  more  to  Thee, 

Breathe,  bathe  myself  once  more  in  Thee — commune  with 

Thee, 
Report  myself  once  more  to  Thee. 

Thou  knowest  my  years  entire,  my  life, 

(My  long  and  crowded  life  of  active  work— not  adoration 
merely ;) 

Thou  knowest  the  prayers  and  vigils  of  my  youth ; 

Thou  knowest  my  manhood's  solemn  and  visionary  medita 
tions  ; 


IF  YOU  GO  to  Europe,  (to  say  nothing  of  Asia,  more 

ancient  and  massive  still,)  you  cannot  stir  without  meeting  venerable  memen 
tos—cathedrals,  ruins  of  temples,  castles,  monuments  of  the  great,  statues 
and  paintings,  (far,  far  beyond  any  thing  America  can  ever  expect  to  pro 
duce,)  haunts  of  heroes  long  dead,  saints,  poets,  divinities,  with  deepest  asso 
ciations  of  ages But  here  in  the  New  World,  While  those  we  can  never 

emulate,  we  have  more  than  those  to  build,  and  far  more  greatly  to  build.  (I 
am  not  sure  but  the  day  for  conventional  monuments,  statues,  memorials, 
&c.,  has  pass'd  away— and  that  they  are  henceforth  superfluous  and  vulgar.) 

An  enlarged  general  superior  Humanity,  (partly  indeed  resulting  from 

those),  we  are  to  build.  European.  Asiatic  greatness  are  in  the  past,  vaster 
and  subtler,  America,  combining,  justifying  the  past,  yet  works  for  a  grander 
tuture,  in  living  Democratic  forms.  (Here  too  are  indicated  the  paths  for  our 
.National  bards.) Other  times,  other  lands,  have  had  their  missions— Art, 


Two  Rivulets. 


Thou  knowest  how,  before  I  commenced,  I  devoted  all  to 

come  to  Thee ; 
Thou  knowest  I  have  in  age  ratified  all  those  vows,  and 

strictly  kept  them ; 
Thou  knowest  I  have  not  once  lost  nor  faith  nor  ecstasy  in 

Thee ; 

(In  shackles,  prison'd,  in  disgrace,  repining  not. 
Accepting  all  from  Thee — as  duly  come  from  Thee.) 

All  my  emprises  have  been  fill'd  with  Thee, 

My  speculations,  plans,  begun  and  carried  on  in  thoughts  of 

Thee, 

Sailing  the  deep,  or  journeying  the  land  for  Thee  ; 
Intentions,  purports,  aspirations  mine— leaving  results  to 

Thee. 

0  I  am  sure  they  really  came  from  Thee  ! 

The  urge,  the  ardor,  the  unconquerable  will, 

The  potent,  felt,  interior  command,  stronger  than  words, 

A  message  from  the  Heavens,  whispering  to  me  even  in 

sleep, 
These  sped  me  on. 

By  me,  and  these,  the  work  so  far  accomplished,  (for  what 

has  been,  has  been  ;) 
By  me  Earth's  elder,  cloy'd  and  stifled  lands,  uncloy'd,  un- 

loos'd ; 
By  me  the  hemispheres  rounded  and  tied — the  unknown  to 

the  known. 

The  end  I  know  not— it  is  all  in  Thee ; 

Or  small,  or  great,  I  know  not — haply,  what  broad  fields, 

what  lands ; 

Haply,  the  brutish,  measureless  human  undergrowth  I  know, 
Transplanted  there,  may  rise  to  stature,  knowledge  worthy 

Thee; 


War,  P'cclesiasticism,  Literature,  Discovery,  Trade,  Architecture,  &c.,  &c., 
—but  that  is  the  enclosing  purport  of  The  United  States. 

THOUGH  These  States  are  to  have  their  own  Individuality, 

and  show  it  forth  with  courage  in  all  their  expressions,  it  is  to  be  a  large, 
tolerant,  and  all-inclusive  Individuality.  Ours  is  to  be  the  Nation  of  the 
Kosmos  :  we  want  nothing  small — nothing  unfriendly  or  crabbed  here — But 
rather  to  become  the  friend  and  well-wisher  of  all — as  we  derive  our  sources 
from  all,  and  are  in  continual  communication  with  all. 

OF  A  grand  and  universal  Nation,  when  one  appears,  per 
haps  it  ought  to  have  morally  what  Nature  has  physically,  the  power  to  take 
in  and  assimilate  all  the  human  strata,  all  kinds  of  experience,  and  all  theo 
ries,  and  whatever  happens  or  occurs,  or  offers  itself,  or  fortune,  or  what  is 
call'd  misfortune. 


Two  Rivulets. 


Haply  the  swords  I  know  may  there  indeed  be  turn'd  to 

reaping-tools ; 
Haply  the  lifeless  cross  I  know — Europe's  dead  cross— may 

bud  and  blossom  there. 

One  effort  more — my  altar  this  bleak  sand  : 

That  Thou,  O  God,  my  life  hast  lighted, 

With  ray  of  light,  steady,  ineffable,  vouchsafed  of  Thee, 

(Light  rare,  untellable — lighting  the  very  light ! 

Beyond  all  signs,  descriptions,  languages!) 

For  that,  0  God — be  it  my  latest  word — here  on  my  knees, 

Old,  poor,  and  paralyzed — I  thank  Thee. 

My  terminus  near, 

The  clouds  already  closing  in  upon  me, 
The  voyage  balk'a — the  course  disputed,  lost, 
I  yield  my  ships  to  Thee. 

Steersman  unseen  !  henceforth  the  helms  are  Thine  ; 
Take  Thou  command — (what  to  my  petty  skill  Thy  naviga 
tion  ?) 

My  hands,  my  limbs  grow  nerveless  ; 

My  brain  feels  rack'd,  bewilder'd  ; 

Let  the  old  timbers  part — I  will  not  part ! 

I  will  cling  fast  to  Thee,  0  God,  though  the  waves  buffet 

me ; 
Thee,  Thee,  at  least,  I  know. 

Is  it  the  prophet's  thought  I  speak,  or  am  I  raving  ? 
What  do  I  know  of  life  ?  what  of  myself? 
I  know  not  even  my  own  work,  past  or  present ; 
Dim,  ever-shifting  guesses  of  it  spread  before  me, 
Of  newer,  better  worlds,  their  mighty  parturition, 
Mocking,  perplexing  me. 

And  these  things  I  see  suddenly— what  mean  they  ? 
As  if  some  miracle,  some  hand  divine  unseal'd  my  eyes, 
Shadowy,  vast  shapes,  smile  through  the  air  and  sky, 
And  on  the  distant  waves  sail  countless  ships, 
And  anthems  in  new  tongues  I  hear  saluting  me. 


NATIONALITY—  (AND  TET.)—  It  is  more  and  more  clear 

to  me  that  the  main  sustenance  for  highest  separate  Personality,  These 
States,  is  to  come  from  that  general  sustenance  of  the  a 


cosion,  graneur  an      reeom  o    te  common  aggregate,  the  Union. 
.........  Thus  the  existence  of  the  true  American,  Continental  Solidarity  of  the 

tuture,  depending  on  myriads  of  superb,  large-sized,  emotional  and  physi 
cally  perfect  Individualities,  of  one  sex  just  as  much  as  the  other,  the  supplv 


Two  Rivulets. 


OUT  FROM  BEHIND  THIS  MASK. 

To  confront  My  Portrait,  illustrating  '  the  Wound- Dresser?  in  LEAVES  OF 
GRASS. 

1 

OUT  from  behind  this  bending,  rough-cut  Mask, 

(All  straighter,  liker  Masks  rejected— this  preferr'd,) 

This  common  curtain  of  the  face,  contain'd  in  me  for  me,  in 
you  for  you,  in  each  for  each, 

(Tragedies,  sorrows,  laughter,  tears — 0  heaven  ! 

The  passionate,  teeming  plays  this  curtain  hid !) 

This  glaze  of  God's  serenest,  purest  sky, 

This  film  of  Satan's  seething  pit, 

This  heart's  geography's  map — this  limitless  small  conti 
nent — this  soundless  sea  : 

Out  from  the  convolutions  of  this  globe, 

This  subtler  astronomic  orb  than  sun  or  moon — than  Jupiter, 
Venus,  Mars ; 

This  condensation  of  the  Universe — (nay,  here  the  only 
Universe, 

Here  the  IDEA — all  in  this  mystic  handful  wrapt ;) 

These  burin'd  eyes,  flashing  to  you,  to  pass  to  future  time, 

To  launch  and  spin  through  space  revolving,  sideling — from 
these  to  emanate, 

To  You,  whoe'er  you  are — a  Look. 


of  such  Individualities,  in  my  opinion,  wholly  depends  on  a  compacted  im 
perial  Ensemble.  The  theory  and  practice  of  both  sovereignties,  contradic 
tory  as  they  are,  are  necessary.  As  the  centripetal  law  were  fatal  alone,  or 
the  centrifugal  law  deadly  and  destructive  alone,  but  together  forming  the 
law  of  eternal  Kosmical  action,  evolution,  preservation,  and  life — so,  by  itself 
alone,  the  fullness  of  Individuality,  even  the  sanest,  would  surely  destroy 
itself.  This  is  what  makes  the  importance  to  the  identities  of  These  States 
of  the  thoroughly  fused,  relentless,  dominating  Union, — a  moral  and  spiritual 
Idea — subjecting  all  the  parts  with  remorseless  power,  more  needed  by 
American  Democracy  than  by  any  of  history's  hitherto  empires  or  feudali 
ties,  and  the  sine  qua  non  of  carrying  out  the  Republican  principle  to  devel- 
ope  itself  in  the  New  World  through  hundreds,  thousands  of  years  to  come. 

Indeed,  what  most  needs  development  through  the  Hundred  Years  to  come 
in  all  parts  of  the  United  States,  North,  South,  Mississippi  valley,  and  Atlan 
tic  and  Pacific  coasts,  is  this  fused  and  fervent  identity  of  the  individual, 
whoever  he  or  she  may  be,  and  wherever  the  place,  with  the  idea  and  fact  of 
AMERICAN  TOTALITY,  and  with  what  is  meant  by  the  Flag,  the  Stars  and 

Stripes We  need  this  conviction  of  Nationality  as  a  faith,  to  be  absorb'd 

in  the  blood  and  belief  of  the  people  everywhere,  South,  North,  West,  East, 
to  emanate  in  their  life,  and  in  native  literature  and  art.  We  want  the  ger 
minal  idea  that  America,  inheritor  of  the  past,  is  the  custodian  of  the  future 

of  Humanity Judging  from  history,  it  is  some  such  moral  and  spiritual 

ideas  appropriate  to  them,  (and  such  ideas  only,)  that  have  made  the  pro- 
tbundest  glory  and  endurance  of  nations  in  the  past.  The  races  of  Judea, 
the  classic  clusters  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  the  Feudal  and  Ecclesiastical 
clusters  of  the  Middle  Ages,  were  each  and  all  vitalized  by  their  separate 
distinctive  ideas,  ingrained  in  them,  redeeming  many  sins,  and  indeed,  in  a 
sense,  the  principal  reason- why  for  their  whole  career. 

Then,  in  the  thought  of  Nationality  especially  for  the  United  States,  and 


Two  Rivulets. 


A  Traveler  of  thoughts  and  years— of  peace  and  war, 

Of  youth  long  sped,  and  middle  age  declining, 

( As  the  first  volume  of  a  tale  perused  and  laid  away,  and  this 

the  second, 

Songs,  ventures,  speculations,  presently  to  close,) 
Lingering  a  moment,  here  and  now,  to  You  I  opposite  turn, 
As  on  the  road,  or  at  some  crevice  door,  by  chance,  or 

open'd  window, 

Pausing,  inclining,  baring  my  head,  You  specially  1  greet, 
To  draw  and  clench  your  Soul,  for  once,  inseparably  with 

mine, 
Then  travel,  travel  on. 


TO  A  LOCOMOTIVE  IN  WINTER. 

THEE  for  my  recitative  ! 

Thee   in  the  driving  storm,  even  as  now — the  snow — the 

winter-day  declining  ; 
Thee  in  thy  panoply,  thy  measured  dual  throbbing,  and  thy 

beat  convulsive  ; 

Thy  black  cylindric  body,  golden  braes,  and  silvery  steel ; 
Thy   ponderous   side-bars,   parallel    and    connecting    rods, 

gyrating,  shuttling  at  thy  sides  ; 
Thy  metrical,  now  swelling  pant  and  roar — now  tapering  in 

the  distance  ; 


making  Them  original,  and  different  from  all  other  countries,  another  point 

ever  remains  to  be  consider'd There  are  two  distinct  principles — aye, 

paradoxes— at  the  life-fountain  and  life-continuation  of  'The  States  :  one,  the 
sacred  principle  of  the  Union,  the  right  of  ensemble,  at  whatever  sacrifice — 
and  yet  Another,  an  equally  sacred  principle,  the  right  of  Each  State,  coii- 
sider'd  as  a  separate  sovereign  individual,  in  its  own  sphere.  Some  go  zeal 
ously  for  one  set  of  these  rights,  and  some  as  zealously  for  the  other  set.  We 
must  have  both ;  or  rather,  bred  out  of  them,  as  out  of  mother  and  father,  a 
Third  set,  the  perennial  result  and  combination  of  both,  and  neither  jeopar 
dized.  I  say  the  loss  or  abdication  of  one  set.  in  the  future,  will  be  ruin  to 
Democracy  just  as  much  as  the  loss  of  the  other  set.  The  problem  is,  to 

harmoniously  adjust  the  two,  and  the  play  of  the  two [Observe  the  lesson 

of  the  divinity  in  Nature,  ever  checking  the  excess  of  one  law,  by  an  oppo 
site,  or  seemingly  opposite  law — generally  the  other  side  of  the  same  law.] 

For  the  theory  of  this  Republic  is,  not  that  the  General  government  is  the 
fountain  of  all  life  and  power,  dispensing  it  forth,  around,  and  to  the  re 
motest  portions  of  our  territory,  but  that  THE  PEOPLE  are,  represented  in 
Both,  underlying  both  the  General  and  State  governments,  and  considerM 
just  as  well  in  their  individualities  and  in  their  separate  aggregates,  or  States, 
as  consider'd  in  one  vast  Aggregate,  as  the  Union.  This  was  the  original 
dual  theory  and  foundation  of  the  United  States,  as  distinguish 'd  from  the 
feudal  and  ecclesiastical  single  idea  of  monarchies  and  papacies,  and  the 

divine  right  of  kings (Kings  have  been  of  use,  hitherto,  as  representing 

the  idea  of  the  identity  of  nations.  But,  to  American  Democracy,  both  ideas 
must  be  fulfill'd,  and  in  my  opinion  the  loss  of  vitality  of  either  one  will  in 
deed  be  the  loss  of  vitality  of  the  other.) 


Two  Rivulets. 


Thy  great  protruding  head-light,  fix'd  in  front ; 

Thy  long,  pale,  floating  vapor-pennants,  tinged  with  delicate 
purple ; 

The  dense  and  murky  clouds  out-belching  from  thy  smoke 
stack; 

Thy  knitted  frame — thy  springs  and  valves — the  tremulous 
twinkle  of  thy  wheels ; 

Thy  train  of  cars  behind,  obedient,  merrily-following, 

Through  gale  or  calm,  now  swift,  now  slack,  yet  steadily 
careering : 

Type  of  the  modern  !  emblem  of  motion  and  power !  pulse 
of  the  continent ! 

For  once,  come  serve  the  Muse,  and  merge  in  verse,  even 
as  here  I  see  thee. 

With  storm,  and  buffeting  gusts  of  wind,  and  falling  snow  ; 

By  day,  thy  warning,  ringing  bell  to  sound  its  notes, 

By  night,  thy  silent  signal  lamps  to  swing. 

Fierce-throated  beauty  ! 

Roll  through  my  chant,  with  all  thy  lawless  music !  thy 

swinging  lamps  at  night ; 

Thy  piercing,  madly-whistled  laughter !  thy  echoes,  rumb 
ling  like  an  earthquake,  rousing  all ! 
Law  of  thyself  complete,  thine  own  track  firmly  holding  ; 
(No  sweetness  debonair  of  tearful  harp  or  glib  piano  thine,) 
Thy  trills  of  shrieks  by  rocks  and  hills  return'd, 
Laimch'd  o'er  the  prairies  wide — across  the  lakes, 
To  the  free  skies,  unpent,  and  glad,  and  strong. 


ORIGINS  —  Darwinism  —  ( Then   Furthermore.}  —  Running 

through  pre-historic  ages — coming  down  from  them  into  the  day-break  of  our 
records,  founding  theology,  suffusing  literature,  and  so  brought  onward — (a 
isort  of  verteber  and  marrow  to  all  the  antique  races  and  lands,  Egypt,  India, 
Greece,  Rome,  the  Chinese,  the  Jews,  &c.,  and  giving  cast  and  complexion 
to  their  art,  poems,  and  their  politics  as  well  as  ecclesiasticism,  all  of  which 
we  more  or  less  inherit,)  appear  those  venerable  claims  to  origin  from  God 
himself,  or  from  Gods  and  Goddesses — ancestry  from  divine  beings  of  vaster 

beauty,  size  and  power  than  ours But  in  current  and  latest  times,  the 

theory  of  human  origin  that  seems  to  have  most  made  its  mark,  (curiously 
reversing  the  antique)  is,  that  we  have  come  on,  originated,  developt,  from 

monkeys,  baboons a  theory  more  significant  perhaps  in  its  indirections,  or 

what  it  necessitates,  than  it  is  even  in  itself. 

(Of  the  foregoing  speculations  twain,  far  apart  as  they  seem,  and  angrily 
as  their  conflicting  advocates  to-day  oppose  each  other,  are  not  both  theories 
to  be  possibly  reconciled ,  and  even  blended  ?  Can  we ,  indeed ,  spare  either  of 
them?  Better  still,  out  of  them,  is  not  a  Third  Theory,  the  real  one,  or  sug 
gesting  the  real  one,  to  arise?) 

Of  this  old  theory,  Evolution,  as  broach'd  anew,  trebled,  with  indeed  all- 
devouring  claims,  by  Darwin,  it  has  so  much  in  it,  and  is  so  needed  as  a 
counterpoise  to  yet  widely  prevailing  and  unspeakably  tenacious,  enfeebling 
Miperstitioiis — is  fused,  by  the  new  man,  into  such  grand,  modest,  truly  scien 
tific  accompaniments — that  the  world  of  erudition,  both  moral  and  physical, 
cannot  but  be  eventually  better'd  and  broaden'd  from  its  speculations— from 
the  advent  of  Darwinism.  Nevertheless,  the  problem  of  origins,  human  and 
other,  is  not  the  least  whit  nearer  its  solution.  In  due  time  the  Evolution 
theory  will  have  to  abate  its  vehemence,  cannot  be  allow'd  to  dominate  every 


Two  Rivulets.  27 


THE  OX  TAMER. 

IN  a  faraway  northern  county,  in  the  placid,  pastoral  region, 
Lives   mv  farmer  friend,  the  theme   of  my  recitative,  a 

famous  Tamer  of  Oxen  : 

There  they  bring  him  the  three-year-olds  and  the  four-year- 
olds,  to  break  them ; 
He  will  take  the  wildest  steer  in  the  world,  and  break  him 

and  tame  him ; 
He  will  go,  fearless,  without  any  whip,  where  the  young 

bullock  chafes  up  and  down  the  yard  ; 
The  bullock's  head  tosses  restless   high  in  the  air,  with 

raging  eyes ; 
Yet,  see  you !  how  soon  his  rage  subsides — how  soon  this 

Tamer  tames  him : 
See  you!  on  the  farms  hereabout,  a  hundred  oxen,  young 

and  old— and  he  is  the  man  who  has  tamed  them ; 
They  all  know  him — all  are  affectionate  to  him  ; 
See  you!  some  are  such  beautiful  animals — so  lofty  looking ! 
Some  are  buff  color'd — some  mottled — one  has  a  white  line 

running  along  his  back — some  are  brindled. 
Some  have  wide  flaring  horns  (a  good  sign)— See  you  !  the 

bright  hides  ; 
See,  the  two  with  stars  on  their  foreheads — See,  the  round 

bodies  and  broad  backs  ; 
See,  how  straight  and  square  they  stand  on  their  legs — See, 

what  fine,  sagacious  eyes  ; 
See,  how  they  watch  their  Tamer — they  wish  him  near  them 

— how  they  turn  to  look  after  him  ! 


tiling  else,  and  will  have  to  take  its  place  as  a  segment  of  the  circle,  the 

cluster — as  but  one  of  many  theories,  many  thoughts,  of  profoundest  value 

and  re-adjusting  and  differentiating  much,  yet  leaving  the  divine  secrets 
just  as  inexplicable  and  unreachable  as  before — may-be  more  so. 

Then  furthermore—  What  is  finally  to  be  done  by  Priest  or  Poet— and  by 
Priest  or  Poet  only — amid  all  the  stupendous  and  dazzling  novelties  of  our 
Century,  with  the  advent  of  America,  and  of  Science  and  Democracy— re 
mains  just  as  indispensable,  after  all  the  work  of  the  grand  astronomers, 
chemists,  linguists,  historians  and  explorers,  of  the  last  hundred  years— and 
the  wondrous  German  and  other  metaphysicians  of  that  time— anil  will  con 
tinue  to  remain,  needed,  America  and  here,  just  the  same  as  in  the  World  of 
Europe  or  Asia,  of  a  hundred,  or  a  thousand,  or  several  thousand  years  ago. 
I  think  indeed  more  needed,  to  furnish  statements  from  the  present  points, 

the  added  arriere,  and  the  unspeakably  immenser  vistas  of  to-day Onlv 

the  Priests  and  Poets  of  the  modern,  at  least  as  exalted  as  any  in  the  past, 
fully  absorbing  and  appreciating  the  results  of  the  past,  in  the'  commonalty 
of  all  Humanity,  all  Time,  (the  main  results  already,  for  there  is  perhaps 
nothing  more,  or  at  any  rate  not  much,  strictly  new,  only  more  important 
modern  combinations,  and  new  relative  adjustments.)  must  indeed  recast  the 
old  metal,  the  already  achiev'd  material,  into  and  through  new  moulds,  cur 
rent  forms Meantime,  the  highest  and  subtlest  and  broadest  truths  of 

modern  Science  wait  for  their  true  assignment  and  lust  vivid  flashes  of  light 
—as  Democracy  waits  for  its— through  first-class  Metaphysicians  and  Specula 
tive  Philosophs— laying  the  basements  and  foundations  for  those  new,  more 
expanded,  more  harmonious,  more  melodious,  freer  American  Poems. 


Two  Rivulets. 


What  yearning  expression !  how  uneasy  they  are  when  he 

moves  away  from  them  : 
-Now  I  marvel  what  it  can  be  he  appears  to  them,  (books, 

politics,  poems,  depart— all  else  departs  ;) 
1  confess  I  envy  only  his  fascination— my  silent,  illiterate 

friend, 

Whom  a  hundred  oxen  love,  there  in  his  life  on  farms, 
In  the  northern  county  far,  in  the  placid,  pastoral  region. 


WANDERING  AT  MORN. 

WANDERING  at  morn, 

Emerging  from  the  night,  from  gloomy  thoughts— thee  in 

my  thoughts, 
Yearning  for  thee,  harmonious  Union!  thee,  Singing  Bird 

divine! 
Thee,  seated  coil'd  in  evil  times,  my  Country,  with  craft 

and  black  dismay — with  every  meanness,  treason 

thrust  upon  thee  ; 
—Wandering — this  common  marvel  I  beheld — the  parent 

thrush  I  watch'd,  feeding  its  young, 

(The  singing  thrush,  whose  tones  of  joy  and  faith  ecstatic, 
Fail  not  to  certify  and  cheer  my  soul.) 

There  ponder'd,  felt  I, 

If  worms,  snakes,  loathsome  grubs,  may  to  sweet  spiritual 

songs  be  turn'd, 

If  vermin  so  transposed,  so  used,  so  bless'd  may  be, 
Then  may  I  trust  in  you,  your  fortunes,  days,  my  country  ; 
— Who  knows  but  these  may  be  the  lessons  fit  for  you  ? 
From  these  your  future  Song  may  rise,  with  joyous  trills, 
Destin'd  to  fill  the  world. 


NEW  POETRY— California,  Mississippi,  Texas.— Without 

deprecating  at  all  the  magnificent  accomplishment,  and  boundless  promise 
still,  of  the  Paternal  States,  flanking  the  Atlantic  shore,  where  I  was  born 
and  grew,  I  see  of  course  that  the  really  maturing  and  Mature  America  is  at 
least  just  as  much  to  loom  up,  expand,  and  take  definite  shape,  with  im 
mensely  added  population,  products  and  originality,  from  the  States  draiii'd 
by  the  Mississippi,  and  from  those  flanking  the  Pacific,  or  bordering  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico. 

For  the  most  cogent  purposes  of  those  great  Inland  States,  and  for  Texas, 
and  California  and  Oregon,  (and  also  for  universal  reasons  and  purposes, 
which  1  will  not  now  stop  to  particularize,)  in  my  opinion  the  time  has  arrived 
to  essentially  break  down  the  barriers  of  form  between  Prose  and  Poetry.  I 
say  the  latter  is  henceforth  to  win  and  maintain  its  character  regardless  of 
rhyme,  and  the  measurement-rules  of  iambic,  spondee,  dactyl,  &c.,  and  that 
even  if  rhyme  and  those  measurements  continue  to  furnish  the  medium  for 
inferior  writers  and  themes,  (especially  for  persiflage  and  the  comic,  as  there 
Acorns  henceforward,  to  the  perfect  'taste,  something  inevitably  comic  in 


Two  Rivulets.  29 


AN  OLD  MAN'S  THOUGHT  OF  SCHOOL. 

[Recited  for  the  inauguration  of  a  New  Public  School,  Camden,  New  Jersey, 
Oct.  31,  1874.] 

AN  old  man's  thought  of  School ; 

An  old  man,  gathering  youthful  memories  and  blooms,  that 
youth  itself  cannot. 

Xow  only  do  I  know  you ! 

O  fair  auroral  skies  !  'O  morning  dew  upon  the  grass  ! 

And  these  I  see — these  sparkling  eyes, 

These  stores  of  mystic  meaning— these  young  lives, 

Building,  equipping,  like  a  fleet  of  ships — immortal  ships! 

Soon  to  sail  out  over  the  measureless  seas, 

On  the  Soul's  voyage. 

Only  a  lot  of  boys  and  girls  ? 

Only  the  tiresome  spelling,  writing,  ciphering  classes  ? 

Only  a  Public  School? 

Ah  more — infinitely  more  ; 

(As  George  Fox  rais'd  his  warning  cry,  "  Is  it  this  pile  of 

brick  and  mortar — these  dead  floors,  windows,  rails 

— you  call  the  church  ? 
Why  this  is  not  the  church  at  all — the  Church  is  living,  ever 

living  Souls.") 

And  you,  America, 

Cast  you  the  real  reckoning  for  your  present? 

The  lights  and  shadows  of  your  future — good  or  evil  ? 

To  girlhood,  boyhood  look — the  Teacher  and  the  School. 


rhyme,  merely  in  itself,  and  anyhow,)  the  truest  and  greatest  POETRY, 
(while  subtly  and  necessarily  always  rhythmic,  and  distinguishable  easily 
enough,)  can  never  again,  in  the  English  language,  be  express'd  in  arbitrary 
and  rhyming  metre,  any  more  than  the  greatest  eloquence,  or  the  truest 
power  and  pa«sion In  my  opinion,  1  say,  while  admitting  that  the  venera 
ble  and  heavenly  forms  of  chiming  Versification  have  in  their  time  play'd 
great  and  fitting  parts — that  the  pensive  complaint,  the  ballads,  wars,  amours, 
legends  of  Europe,  &c.,  have,  many  of  them,  been  inimitably  render'd  in 
rhyming  verse — that  there  have  been  very  illustrious  poets  whose  shapes  the 
mantle  of  such  verse  has  beautifully  and  appropriately  envelopt — and  though 
the  mantle  has  fallen,  with  perhaps  added  beauty,  on  some  of  our  own  age — 
it  is,  notwithstanding,  certain  to  me,  that  the  day  of  such  conventional  rhyme 
is  ended.  In  America,  at  any  rate,  and  as  a  medium  of  highest  esthetic 
practical  or  spiritual  expression,  present  or  future,  it  palpably  fails,  and 
must  fail,  to  serve.  The  Muse  of  the  Prairies,  and  of  the  Peaks  of  Colorado, 
dismissing  the  literary,  as  well  as  social  etiquette  of  over-sea  feudalism  and 
caste,  joyfully  enlarging,  adapting  itself  to  comprehend  the  size  of  the  Whole 
People,  with  the  free  play,  emotions,  pride,  passions,  experiences,  that  be 
long  to  them,  Body  and  Soul— to  the  General  Globe,  and  all  its  relations  in 
astronomy,  as  the  savans  portray  them  to  us — to  the  Modern,  the  busy  Nine 
teenth  Century,  (as  grandly  poetic  as  any,  only  different,)  with  steamships, 


30  Two  Rivulets. 


WITH  ALL  THY  GIFTS. 

WITH  all  thy  gifts,  America, 

(Standing  secure,  rapidly  tending,  overlooking  the  world,) 

Power,  wealth,  extent,  vouchsafed  to  thee— With  these,  and 
like  of  these,  vouchsafed  to  thee, 

What  if  one  gift  thou  lackest?  (the  ultimate  human  problem 
never  solving ;) 

The  gift  of  Perfect  Women  fit  for  thee— What  of  that  gift 
of  gifts  thou  lackest  ? 

The  towering  Feminine  of  thee  ?  the  beauty,  health,  com 
pletion,  fit  for  thee  ? 

The  Mothers  fit  for  thee  ? 


FROM  MY  LAST  YEARS. 

FROM  my  last  years,  last  thoughts  I  here  bequeath, 
Scatter'd  and  dropt,  in  seeds,  and  wafted  to  the  West, 
Through  moisture  of  Ohio,  prairie  soil  of  Illinois — through 

C9lorado,  California  air, 
For  Time  to  germinate  fully. 


railroads,  factories,  electric  telegraphs,  cylinder  presses — to  the  thought  of 
the  Solidarity  of  Nations,  the  brotherhood  and  sisterhood  of  the  entire  Earth 
—To  the  dignity  and  heroism  of  the  practical  labor  of  farms,  factories,  found 
ries,  workshops,  mines,  or  on  shipboard,  or  on  lakes  arid  rivers — resumes 
that  other  medium  of  expression,  more  flexible,  more  eligible— soars  to  the 
freer,  vast,  diviner  heaven  of  Prose. 

RULERS,  STRICTLY  OUT  OF  THE  MASSES.— In  the  talk 

(which  I  welcome)  about  the  need  of  men  of  training,  thoroughly  school 'd 
and  experienced  men,  for  Statesmen,  I  would  present  the  following  as  an  otf- 
set.  It  was  written  by  me  twenty  years  ago— and  has  been  curiously  veritied 
since  by  the  advent  of  Abraham  Lincoln : 

I  say  no  body  of  men  are  fit  to  make  Presidents,  Judges,  and  Generals,  un 
less  they  themselves  supply  the  best  specimens  of  the  same  ;  and  that  supply 
ing  one  or  two  such  specimens  illuminates  the  whole  body  for  a  thousand 
years.  I  expect  to  see  the  day  when  the  like  of  the  present  personnel  of  the 
Governments,  Federal,  State,  municipal,  military,  and  naval,  will  be  look'd 
upon  with  derision,  and  when  qualified  Mechanics  and  young  men  will  reach 
Congress  and  other  official  stations,  sent  in  their  working  costumes,  fresh 
from  their  benches  and  tools,  and  returning  to  them  again  with  dignity.  The 
young  fellows  must  prepare  to  do  credit  to  this  destiny,  for  the  stuff  is  in 
them.  Nothing  gives  place,  recollect,  and  never  ought  to  give  place,  except 
to  its  clean  superiors.  There  is  more  rude  and  undevelopt  bravery,  friend 
ship,  conscientiousness,  clear-sightedness,  and  practical  genius  for  any  scope 
of  action,  even  the  broadest  andhighest,  now  among  the  American  Mechan 
ics  and  young  men,  than  in  all  the  official  persons  in  These  States,  legisla 
tive,  executive,  judicial,  military,  and  naval,  and  more  than  among  all  the 
literary  persons.  1  would  be  much  pleased  to  see  some  heroic,  shrewd,  fully- 
inforni'd,  healthy-bodied,  middle-aged,  beard-faced  American  Blacksmith 
or  Boatman  come  down  from  the  West  across  the  Alleghanies,  and  walk  into 
the  Presidency,  dress'd  in  a  clean  suit  of  working  attire,  and  with  the  ta» 
all  over  his  face,  breast,  and  arms;  I  would  certainly  vote  for  that  sort  of 
man,  possessing  the  due  requirements,  before  any  other  candidate. 


Two  Rivulets.  31 


IN  FORMER  SONGS. 

IN  former  songs  Pride  have  I  sung,  and  Love,  and  passion 
ate,  joyful  Life, 
But  here  I  twine  the  strands  of  Patriotism  and  Death. 

And  now,  Life,  Pride,  Love,  Patriotism  and  Death, 

To  you,  0  FREEDOM,  purport  of  all ! 

(You  that  elude  me  most — refusing  to  be  caught  in  songs  of 

mine,) 
I  offer  all  to  you. 

2 

'Tis  not  for  nothing,  Death, 

1  sound  out  you,  and  words  of  you,  with  daring  tone — em 
bodying  you, 

In  my  new  Democratic  chants— keeping  you  for  a  close, 
For  last  impregnable  retreat — a  citadel  and  tower, 
For  my  last  stand — my  pealing  final  cry. 


'  FINE  MANNERS.'— In  certain  moods  I  have  question'd 

whether  far  too  much  is  not  made  of  Manners.  To  an  artist  entirely  great — 
and  especially  to  that  far-advanced  stage  of  judgment  beyond  mortality 
which  Kant  is  fond  of  suggesting  as  a  standard  and  test — we  can  conceive 
that  all  of  what  is  popularly  cail'd  '  fine  manners '  would  be  of  little  or  no 
account — and  only  positive  qualities,  power,  interior  meanings,  sanities, 

morals,  emotions,  would  be  noticed The  Exquisite-Manners  School,  if  not 

foreign  to  Democracy,  is  surely  no  help  to  it ;  but  moral  and  manly  Person- 

alism  is  the  help.     Why  not,  like  Nature,  permit  no  glamour  to  affect  us? 

(But  are  not  really  line  manners  the  natural  perfume,  as  it  were,  of  all 
healthy,  inward,  even  Democratic  qualities?) 

TRANSPORTATION,  EXPRESSES,  &c.— I  am  not  sure  but 

the  most  typical  and  representative  things  in  the  United  States  are  what  are 
involved  in  the  vast  network  of  Interstate  Railroad  Lines— our  Electric  Tele 
graphs—our  Mails,  (post-offices)— and  the  whole  of  the  mighty,  ceaseless,  com 
plicated  (and  quite  perfect  already,  tremendous  as  they  are)  systems  of  Trans 
portation  everywhere  of  passengers,  freight  and  intelligence.  No  words,  no 
painting,  can  too  strongly  depict  the  fulness  and  grandeur  of  these— the 
smallest  minutiae  attended  to,  and  in  their  totality  incomparably  magnificent. 

WOMEN,  AND  CONSCIENCE.— In  my  judgment  it  is  strictly 

true  that  on  the  present  supplies  of  imaginative  literature — the  current 
novels,  tales,  romances,  and  what  is  cail'd  '  poetry  ' — enormous  in  quantity, 
and  utterly  tainted  and  unwholesome  in  quality,  lies  the  responsibility,  (a 
great  part  of  it,  anyhow,)  of  the  absence  in  modern  society  of  a  noble,  stal 
wart,  and  healthy  and  maternal  race  of  Women,  and  of  a  strong  and  domi 
nant  moral  Conscience. 

FREEDOM.— It  is  not  only  true  that  most  people  entirely 

misunderstand  Freedom,  but  I  sometimes  think  I  have  not  yet  met  one  per 
son  who  rightly  understands  it The  whole  Universe  is  absolute  Law. 

Freedom  only  opens  entire  activity  and  license  under  the  law.  To  the  de 
graded  or  undevelopt— and  even  to  too  many  others— the  thought  of  freedom 
i*  a  thought  of  escaping  from  law — which,  of  course,  is  impossible. 

More  precious  than  all  worldly  riches,  is  Freedom— freedom  from  the  pain 
ful  constipation  and  poor  narrowness  of  ecclesiasticism — freedom  in  manners, 
habiliments,  furniture,  from  the  silliness  and  tyranny  of  local  fashions— en 
tire  freedom  from  party  rings  and  mere  conventions  in  Politics— and  better 
than  all,  a  general  freedom  of  One's-Self  from  the  tyrannic  domination  of 


32  Two  Rivulets. 


AFTER  THE  SEA-SHIP. 

AFTER  the  Sea-Ship— after  the  whistling  winds ; 

After  the  white-gray  sails,  taut  to  their  spars  and  ropes, 

Below,  a  myriad,  myriad  waves,  hastening,  lifting  up  their 

necks, 

Tending  in  ceaseless  flow  toward  the  track  of  the  ship  : 
Waves  of  the  ocean,  bubbling  and  gurgling,  blithely  prying, 
Waves,  undulating  waves — liquid,  uneven,  emulous  waves, 
Toward  that  whirling  current,  laughing  and  buoyant,  with 

curves, 
Where  the  great  Vessel,  sailing  and  tacking,  displaced  the 

surface ; 

Larger  and  smaller  waves,  in  the  spread  of  the  ocean,  yearn- 
fully  flowing  ; 
The  wake  of  the  Sea-Ship,  after  she  passes — flashing  and 

frolicsome,  under  the  sun, 
A  motley  procession,  with  many  a  fleck  of  foam,  and  many 

fragments, 
Following  the  stately  and  rapid  Ship — in  the  wake  following. 


vices,  habits,  appetites,  under  which  nearly  every  man  of  us,  (often  the 
greatest  bawler  for  freedom,)  is  enslaved. 

Can  we  attain  such  enfranchisement — the  true  Democracy,  and  the  height 
of  it? 

While  we  are  from  birth  to  death  the  subjects  of  irresistible  law,  enclosing 
every  movement  and  minute,  we  yet  escape,  by  a  paradox,  into  true  free 
will.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  we  only  attain  to  freedom  by  a  knowledge  of, 
and  implicit  obedience  to  Law.  Great — unspeakably  great — is  the  Will !  the 
free  Soul  of  man  !  At  its  greatest,  understanding  and  obeying  the  laws,  it 

can  then,  and  then  only,  maintain  true  liberty For  there  is  to  the  highest, 

that  law  as  absolute  as  any — more  absolute  than  any — the  Law  of  Liberty. 
The  shallow,  as  intimated,  consider  liberty  a  release  from  all  law,  from  every 
constraint.  The  wise  see  in  it,  on  the  contrary,  the  potent  Law  of  Laws, 
namely,  the  fusion  and  combination  of  the  conscious  will,  or  partial  individ 
ual  law,  with  those  universal,  eternal,  unconscious  ones,  which  run  through 
all  Time,  pervade  history,  prove  immortality,  give  moral  purpose  to  the  eV 
tire  objective  world,  and  the  last  dignity  to  human  life. 


DEMOCRATIC 


1ST 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

WALT  WHITMAN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Electrotyped  by  SMITH  &  McDouGAL,  82  Beekman  Street,  New  York. 


DEMOCRATIC    VISTAS. 


AMERICA,  filling  the  present  with  greatest  deeds 
-£*-  and  problems,  cheerfully  accepting  the  past, 
including  Feudalism,  (as,  indeed,  the  present  is  but 
the  legitimate  birth  of  the  past,  including  feudalism,) 
counts,  as  •[  reckon,  for  her  justification  and  success, 
(for  who,  as  yet,  dare  claim  success?)  almost  entirely 
on  the  future.  Nor  is  that  hope  unwarranted.  To-day, 
ahead,  though  dimly  yet,  we  see,  in  vistas,  a  copious, 
sane,  gigantic  offspring. 

For  our  New  World  I  consider  far  less  important  for 
what  it  has  done,  or  what  it  is,  than  for  results  to  come. 
Sole  among  nationalities,  These  States  have  assumed 
the  task  to  put  in  forms  of  lasting  power  and  practi 
cality,  on  areas  of  amplitude  rivaling  the  operations  of 
the  physical  kosmos,  the  moral  and  political  specula 
tions  of  ages,  long,  long  deferred,  the  Democratic  Re 
publican  principle,  and  the  theory  of  development  and 
perfection  by  voluntary  standards,  and  self-suppliance. 
Who  else,  indeed,  except  the  United  States,  in  history, 
so  far,  have  accepted  in  unwitting  faith,  and,  as  we  now 
see,  stand,  act  upon,  and  go  security  for,  these  things  ? 

But  let  me  strike  at  once  the  key-note  of  my  purpose 
in  the  following  strain.  First  premising  that,  though 
passages  of  it  have  been  written  at  widely  different 
times,  (it  is,  in  fact,  a  collection  of  memoranda,  perhaps 
for  future  designers,  comprehenders,)  and  though  it 
may  be  open  to  the  charge  of  one  part  contradicting 
another — for  there  are  opposite  sides  to  the  great  ques 
tion  of  Democracy,  as  to  every  great  question — I  feel 


4  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

tlie  parts  harmoniously  blended  in  my  own  realization 
and  convictions,  and  present  them  to  be  read  only  in 
such  oneness,  each  page  modified  and  tempered  by  the 
others.  Bear  in  mind,  too,  that  they  are  not  the  result 
of  studying  up  in  political  economy,  but  of  the  ordinary 
sense,  observing,  wandering  among  men,  These  States, 
these  stirring  years  of  war  and  peace.  I  will  not  gloss 
over  the  appalling  dangers  of  universal  suffrage  in  the 
United  States.  In  fact,  it  is  to  admit  and  face  these 
dangers  I  am  writing.  To  him  or  her  within  whose 
thought  rages  the  battle,  advancing,  retreating,  be 
tween  Democracy's  convictions,  aspirations,  and  the 
People's  crudeness,  vice,  caprices,  I  mainly  write  this 
book. 

I  shall  use  the  words  America  and  Democracy  as  con 
vertible  terms.  Not  an  ordinary  one  is  the  Issue.  The 
United  States  are  destined  either  to  surmount  the  gor 
geous  history  of  Feudalism,  or  else  prove  the  moso  tre 
mendous  failure  of  time.  Not  the  least  doubtful  am  I 
on  any  prospects  of  their  material  success.  The  trium 
phant  future  of  their  business,  geographic,  and  produc 
tive  departments,  on  larger  scales  and  in  more  varieties 
than  ever,  is  certain.  In  those  respects  the  Republic 
must  soon  (if  she  does  not  already)  outstrip  all  ex 
amples  hitherto  afforded,  and  dominate  the  world.* 


*  "From  a  territorial  area  of  less  than  nine  hundred  thou 
sand  square  miles,  the  Union  lias  expanded  into  over  four  mil 
lions  and  a  half — fifteen  times  larger  than  that  of  Great  Britain 
and  France  combined — with  a  shore-line,  including  Alaska,  equal 
to  the  entire  circumference  of  the  earth,  and  with  a  domain 
within  these  lines  far  wider  than  that  of  the  Romans  in  their 
proudest  days  of  conquest  and  renown.  With  a  river,  lake,  and 
coastwise  commerce  estimated  at  over  two  thousand  millions  of 
dollars  per  year ;  with  a  railway  traffic  of  four  to  six  thousand 
millions  per  year,  and  the  annual  domestic  exchanges  of  the 
country  running  up  to  nearly  ten  thousand  millions  per  year ; 
with  over  two  thousand  millions  of  dollars  invested  in  manufac 
turing,  mechanical,  and  mining  industry  ;  with  over  five  hun 
dred  millions  of  acres  of  land  in  actual  occupancy,  valued,  writh 
their  appurtenances,  at  over  seven  thousand  millions  of  dollars, 
and  producing  annually  crops  valued  at  over  three  thousand  mil 
lions  of  dollars  ;  with  a  realm  which,  if  the  density  of  Belgium's 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  5 

Admitting  all  this,  with  the  priceless  value  of  our 
political  institutions,  general  suffrage  (and  cheerfully 
acknowledging  the  latest,  widest  opening  of  the 
doors,)  I  say  that,  far  deeper  than  the^e,  what  finally 
and  only  is  to  make  of  our  Western  World  a  National 
ity  superior  to  any  hitherto  known,  and  outtopping 
the  past,  must  be  vigorous,  yet  unsuspected  Litera 
tures,  perfect  personalities  and  sociologies,  original, 
transcendental,  and  expressing  (what,  in  highest  sense, 
are  not  yet  expressed  at  all,)  Democracy  and  the  Mod 
ern.  With  these,  and  out  of  these,  I  promulge  new 
races  of  Teachers,  and  of  perfect  Women,  indispen 
sable  to  endow  the  birth-stock  of  a  New  World.  For 
Feudalism,  caste,  the  Ecclesiastic  traditions,  though ' 
palpably  retreating  from  political  institutions,  still  hold 
essentially,  by  their  spirit,  even  in  this  country,  entire 
possession  of  the  more  important  fields,  indeed  the 
very  subsoil,  of  education,  and  of  social  standards  and 
Literature. 

I  say  that  Democracy  can  never  prove  itself  beyond 
cavil,  until  it  ^founds  and  luxuriantly  grows  its  own 
forms  of  arts, "poems,  schools,  theology,  displacing  all 
that  exists,  or  that  has  been  produced  anywhere  in  the 
past,  under  opposite  influences. 

It  is  curious  to  me  that  while  so  many  voices,  pens, 
minds,  in  the  press,  lecture-rooms,  in  our  Congress, 
&G.J  are  discussing  intellectual  topics,  pecuniary  dan 
gers,  legislative  problems,  the  suffrage,  tariff  and  labor 
questions,  and  the  various  business  and  benevolent 
needs  of  America,  with  propositions,  remedies,  often 
worth  deep  attention,  there  is  one  need,  a  hiatus,  and 
the  profoundest,  that  no  eye  seems  to  perceive,  no 
voice  to  state.  Our  fundamental  want  to-day  in  the 
United  States,  with  closest,  amplest  reference  to  pres- 


population  were  possible,  would  be  vast  enough  to  include  all  the 
present  inhabitants  of  the  world ;  and  with  equal  rights  guaran 
teed  to  even  the  poorest  and  humblest  of  our  forty  millions  of 
people — we  can,  with  a  manly  pride  akin  to  that  which  distin 
guished  the  palmiest  days  of  Rome,  claim,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  —  Vice- 
Prcsident  Golf  ax's  Speech,  July  4, 1870. 


6  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

ent  conditions,  and  to  the  future,  is  of  a  class,  and  the 
clear  idea  of  a  class,  of  native  Authors,  Literatuses,  far 
different,  far  higher  in  grade  than  any  yet  known, 
sacerdotal,  modern,  fit  to  cope  with  our  occasions, 
lands,  permeating  the  whole  mass  of  American  men 
tality,  taste,  belief,  breathing  into  it  a  new  breath  of 
life,  giving  it  decision,  affecting  politics  far  more  than 
the  popular  superficial  suffrage,  with  results  inside 
and  underneath  the  elections  of  Presidents  or  Con 
gresses,  radiating,  begetting  appropriate  teachers  and 
schools,  manners,  costumes,  and,  as  its  grandest  re 
sult,  accomplishing,  (what  neither  the  schools  nor  the 
churches  and  their  clergy  have  hitherto  accomplished, 
•  and  without  which  this  nation  will  no  more  stand,  per 
manently,  soundly,  than  a  house  will  stand  without  a 
substratum,)  a  religious  and  moral  character  beneath 
the  political  and  productive  and  intellectual  bases  of 
The  States.  For  know  you  not,  dear,  earnest  reader, 
that  the  people  of  our  land  may  all  know  how  to  read 
and  write,  and  may  all  possess  the  right  to  vote — and 
yet  the  main  things  may  be  entirely  lacking  ? — (and  this 
to  supply  or  suggest  them.) 

Viewed,  to-day,  from  a  point  of  view  sufficiently  over 
arching,  the  problem  of  humanity  all  over  the  civilized 
world  is  social  and  religious,  and  is  to  be  finally  met 
and  treated  by  literature.  The  priest  departs,  the  di 
vine  Literatus  comes.  Never  was  anything  more  wanted 
than,  to-day,  and  here  in  The  States,  the  Post  of  the 
Modern  is  wanted,  or  the  great  Literatus  of  the  Mod 
ern.  At  all  times,  perhaps,  the  central  point  in  any 
nation,  and  that  whence  it  is  itself  really  swayed  the 
most,  and  whence  it  sways  others,  is  its  national  litera 
ture,  especially  its  archetypal  poems.  Above  all  previ 
ous  lands,  a  great  original  literature  is  surely  to  be 
come  the  justification  and  reliance,  (in  some  respects 
the  sole  reliance,)  of  American  Democracy. 

Few  are  aware  how  the  great  literature  penetrates 
all,  gives  hue  to  all,  shapes  aggregates  and  individuals, 
and,  after  subtle  ways,  with  irresistible  power,  con 
structs,  sustains,  demolishes  at  will.  Why  tower,  in 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  7 

reminiscence,  above  all  the  old  nations  of  the  earth,  two 
special  lands,  petty  in  themselves,  yet  inexpressibly 
gigantic,  beautiful,  columnar  ?  Immortal  Judah  lives, 
and  Greece  immortal  lives,  in  a  couple  of  poems. 

Nearer  than  this.  It  is  not  generally  realized,  but  it 
is  true,  as  the  genius  of  Greece,  and  all  the  sociology, 
personality,  politics  and  religion  of  those  wonderful 
states,  resided  in  their  literature  or  esthetics,  that  what 
was  afterwards  the  main  support  of  European  chivalry, 
the  feudal,  ecclesiastical,  dynastic  world  over  there, 
forming  its  osseous  structure,  holding  it  together  for 
hundreds,  thousands  of  years,  preserving  its  flesh  and 
bloom,  giving  it  form,  decision,  rounding  it  out,  and 
so  saturating  it  in  the  conscious  and  unconscious  blood, 
breed,  belief,  and  intuitions  of  men,  that  it  still  pre 
vails  powerfully  to  this  day,  in  defiance  of  the  mighty 
changes  of  time,  was  its  literature,  permeating  to  the 
very  marrow,  especially  that  major  part,  its  enchant 
ing  songs,  ballacls,  and  poems.* 

To  the  ostent  of  the  senses  and  eyes,  I  know,  the  in 
fluences  which  stamp  the  world's  history  are  wars,  up 
risings  or  downfalls  of  dynasties,  changeful  movements 
of  trade,  important  inventions,  navigation,  military  or 
civil  governments,  advent  of  powerful  personalities, 
conquerors,  &c.  These  of  course  play  their  part  ; 
yet,  it  may  be,  a  single  new  thought,  imagination,  prin 
ciple,  even  literary  style,  fit  for  the  time,  put  in  shape 
by  some  great  Literatus,  and  projected  among  man- 


*  See,  for  hereditaments,  specimens,  Walter  Scott's  Border  Min 
strelsy,  Percy's  Collection,  Ellis's  Early  English  Metrical  Ro 
mances,  the  European  Continental  Poems  of  Walter  of  Aquita- 
nia,  and  the  Nibelungen,  of  pagan  stock,  but  monkish-feudal 
redaction  ;  the  history  of  the  Troubadours,  by  Fauriel ;  even  the 
far,  far  back  cumbrous  old  Hindu  epics,  as  indicating  the  Asian 
eggs,  out  of  which  European  chivalry  was  hatched  ,  Ticknor's 
chapters  on  the  Cid,  and  on  the  Spanish  poems  and  poets  of  Cal- 
deron's  time.  Then  always,  and,  of  course,  as  the  superbest, 
poetic  culmination-expression  of  Feudalism,  the  Shakspcarean 
dramas,  in  the  attitudes,  dialogue,  characters,  &c.,  of  the  princes, 
lords  and  gentlemen,  the  pervading  atmosphere,  the  implied 
and  expressed  standard  of  manners,  the  high  port  and  proud 
ctomach,  the  regal  embroidery  of  style,  &c. 


8  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

kind,  may  duly  cause  change?,  growths,  removals, 
greater  than  the  longest  and  bloodiest  war,  or  the 
most  stupendous  merely  political,  dynastic,  or  com 
mercial  overturn. 

In  short,  as,  though  it  may  not  be  realized,  it  is 
strictly  true,  that  a  few  first-class  poets,  philosophs, 
and  authors,  have  substantially  settled  and  given  status 
to  the  entire  religion,  education,  law,  sociology,  &c.,  of 
the  hitherto  civilized  world,  by  tinging  and  often  crea 
ting  the  atmospheres  out  of  which  they  have  arisen, 
such  also  must  stamp,  and  more  than  ever  stamp,  the 
interior  and  real  Democratic  construction  of  this  Ameri 
can  continent,  to-day,  and  days  to  come. 

Remember  also  this  fact  of  difference,  that,  while 
through  the  antique  and  through  the  mediaeval  ages, 
highest  thoughts  and  ideals  realized  themselves,  and 
their  expression  made  its  way  by  other  arts,  as  much 
as,  or  even  more  than  by,  technical  literature,  (not  open 
to  the  mass  of  persons,  nor  even  to  the  majority  of 
eminent  persons,)  such  literature  in  our  day  and  for 
current  purposes,  is  not  only  more  eligible  than  all  the 
other  arts  put  together,  but  lias  become  the  only  gen 
eral  means  of  morally  influencing  the  world.  Faint 
ing,  sculpture,  and  the  dramatic  theatre,  it  would 
seem,  no  longer  play  an  indispensable  or  even  im 
portant  part  in  the  workings  and  mediumship  of  in 
tellect,  utility,  or  even  high  esthetics.  Architecture 
remains,  doubtless  with  capacities,  and  a  real  future. 
Then  music,  the  combiner,  nothing  more  spiritual,  noth 
ing  more  sensuous,  a  god,  yet  completely  human,  ad 
vances,  prevails,  holds  highest  place;  supplying  in  cer 
tain  wants  and  quarters  what  nothing  else  could  supply. 
Yet,  in  the  civilization  of  to-day  it  is  undeniable  that, 
over  all  the  arts,  literature  dominates,  serves  beyond 
all — shapes  the  character  of  church  and  school — or,  at 
any  rate,  is  capable  of  doing  so.  Including  the  litera 
ture  of  science,  its  scope  is  indeed  unparalleled. 

Before  proceeding  further,  it  were  perhaps  well  to 
discriminate  on  certain  points.  Literature  tills  its 
crops  in  many  fields,  and  some  may  flourish,  while 
others  lag.  What  I  say  in  these  Yistas  has  its  main 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  9 

bearing  on  Imaginative  Literature,  especially  Poetry, 
the  stock  of  all.  In  the  department  of  Science,  and  the 
specialty  of  Journalism,  there  appear,  in  These  States, 
promises,  perhaps  fulfilments,  of  highest  earnestness, 
reality,  and  life.  These,  of  course,  are  modern.  But 
in  the  region  of  imaginative,  spinal  and  essential  attri 
butes,  something  equivalent  to  creation  is  imperatively 
demanded.  For  not  only  is  it  not  enough  that  the 
new  blood,  new  frame  of  Democracy  shall  be  vivified 
and  held  together  merely  by  political  means,  superficial 
suffrage,  legislation,  &c.,  but  it  is  clear  to  me  that,  un 
less  it  goes  deeper,  gets  at  least  as  firm  and  as  warm  a 
hold  in  men's  hearts,  emotions  and  belief,  as,  in  their 
days,  Feudalism  or  Ecclesiasticism,  and  inaugurates  its 
own  perennial  sources,  welling  from  the  -centre  forever, 
its  strength  will  be  defective,  its  growth  doubtful,  and 
its  main  charm  wanting. 

I  suggest,  therefore,  the  possibility,  should  some  two 
or  three  really  original  American  poets,  (perhaps  artists 
or  lecturers,)  arise,  mounting  the  horizon  like  planets, 
stars  of  the  first  magnitude,  that,  from  their  eminence, 
fusing  contributions,  races,  far  localities,  &c.,  together, 
they  would  give  more  compaction  and  more  moral  iden 
tity,  (the  quality  to-day  most  needed,)  to  These  States, 
than  all  its  Constitutions,  legislative  and  -judicial  ties, 
and  all  its  hitherto  political,  warlike,  or  materialistic 
experiences.  As,  for  instance,  there  could  hardly  hap 
pen  anything  that  would  more  serve  The  States,  with 
all  their  variety  of  origins,  their  diverse  climes,  cities, 
standards,  &c.,  than  possessing  an  aggregate  of  heroes, 
characters,  exploits,  sufferings,  prosperity  or  misfor 
tune,  glory  or  disgrace,  common  to  all,  typical  of  all — 
no  less,  but  even  greater  would  it  be  to  possess  the 
aggregation  of  a  cluster  of  mighty  poets,  artists,  teach 
ers,  fit  for  us,  national  expressers,  comprehending  and 
effusing  for  the  men  and  women  of  The  States,  what  is 
universal,  native,  common  to  all,  inland  and  seaboard, 
northern  and  southern.  The  historians  say  of  ancient 
Greece,  with  her  ever-jealous  autonomies,  cities,  and 
states,  that  the  only  positive  unity  she  ever  owned  or 
received,  was  the  sad  unity  of  a  common  subjection,  at 


10  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

the  last,  to  foreign  conquerors.  Subjection,  aggrega 
tion  of  that  sort,  is  impossible  to  America  ;  but  the  fear 
of  conflicting  and  irreconcilable  interiors,  and  the  lack 
of  a  common  skeleton,  knitting  all  close,  continually 
haunts  me.  Or,  if  it  does  not,  nothing  is  plainer  than 
the  need,  a  long  period  to  come,  of  a  fusion  of  The 
States  into  the  only  reliable  identity,  the  moral  and 
artistic  one.  For,  I  say,  the  true  nationality  of  The 
States,  the  genuine  union,  when  we  come  to  a  mortal 
crisis,  is,  and  is  to  be,  after  all,  neither  the  written  law, 
nor,  (as  is  generally  supposed,)  either  self-interest,  or 
common  pecuniary  or  material  objects — but  the  fervid 
and  tremendous  IDEA,  melting  everything  else  with  re 
sistless  heat,  and  solving  all  lesser  and  definite  distinc 
tions  in  vast,  indefinite,  spiritual,  emotional  power. 

It  may  be  claimed,  (and  I  admit  the  weight  of  the 
claim,)  that  common  and  general  worldly  prosperity, 
and  a  populace  well-to-do,  and  with  all  life's  material 
comforts,  is  the  main  thing,  and  is  enough.  It  may  be 
argued  that  our  Kepublic  is,  in  performance,  really 
enacting  to-day  the  grandest  arts,  poems,  &c.,  by  beat 
ing  up  the  wilderness  into  fertile  farms,  and  in  her 
railroads,  ships,  machinery,  &c.  And  it  may  be  asked, 
Are  these  not  better,  indeed,  for  America,  than  any 
utterances  even  of  greatest  rhapsode,  artist,  or  literate  ? 

I  too  hail  those  achievements  with  pride  and  joy : 
then  answer  that  the  soul  of  man  will  not  with  such 
only — nay,  not  with  such  at  all — be  finally  satisfied ;  but 
needs  what,  (standing  on  those  and  on  all  things,  as  the 
feet  stand  on  the  ground,)  is  addressed  to  the  loftiest,  to 
itself  alone. 

Out  of  such  considerations,  such  truths,  arises  for 
treatment  in  these  Yistas  the  important  question  of 
Character,  of  an  American  stock-personality,  with 
Literatures  and  Arts  for  outlets  and  return-expres 
sions,  and,  of  course,  to  correspond,  within  outlines 
common  to  all.  To  these,  the  main  affair,  the  thinkers 
of  the  United  States,  in  general  so  acute,  have  either 
given  feeblest  attention,  or  have  remained,  and  re 
main,  in  a  state  of  somnolence. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  11 

For  my  part,  I  would  alarm  and  caution  even  the 
political  and  business  reader,  and  to  the  utmost  extent, 
against  the  prevailing  delusion  that  the  establishment 
of  free  political  institutions,  and  plentiful  intellectual 
smartness,  with  general  good  order,  physical  plenty,  in 
dustry,  &c.,  (desirable  and  precious  advantages  as  they 
all  are,)  do,  of  themselves,  determine  and  yield  to  our 
experiment  of  Democracy  the  fruitage  of  success.  With 
such  advantages  at  present  fully,  or  almost  fully,  pos 
sessed — the  Union  ^just  issued,  victorious,  from  the 
struggle  with  the  only  foes  it  need  ever  fear,  (namely, 
those  within  itself,  the  interior  ones,)  and  with  unpre 
cedented  materialistic  advancement — Society,  in  These 
States,  is  cankered,  crude,  superstitious,  and  rotten. 
Political,  or  law-made  society  is,  and  private,  or  volun 
tary  society,  is  also.  In  any  vigor,  the  element  of  the 
moral  conscience,  the  most  important,  the  vertebrae,  to 
State  or  man,  seems  to  me  either  entirely  lacking  or 
seriously  enfeebled  or  ungrown. 

I  say  we  had  best  look  our  time  and  lands  search- 
ingly  in  the  face,  like  a  physician  diagnosing  some  deep 
disease.  Never  was  there,  perhaps,  more  hollowness 
at  heart  than  at  present,  and  here  in  the  United  States. 
Genuine  belief  seems  to  have  left  us.  The  underlying 
principles  of  The  States  are  not  honestly  believed  in, 
(for  all  this  hectic  glow,  and  these  melo-dramatic 
sereaniings,)  nor  is  Humanity  itself  believed  in.  What 
penetrating  eye  does  not  everywhere  see  through  the 
mask?  The  spectacle  is  appalling.  We  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  hypocrisy  throughout.  The  men  believe, 
not  in  the  women,  nor  the  women  in  the  men.  A 
scornful  superciliousness  rules  in  literature.  The  aim 
of  all  the  litterateurs  is  to  find  something  to  make  fun  of. 
A  lot  of  churches,  sects,  &c.,  the  most  dismal  phantasms 
I  know,  usurp  the  name  of  religion.  Conversation  is  a 
mass  of  badinage.  From  deceit  in  the  spirit,  the  mother 
of  all  false  deeds,  the  offspring  is  already  incalculable. 
An  acute  and  candid  person,  in  the  Eevenue  Depart 
ment  in  Washington,  who  is  led  by  the  course  of  his 
employment  to  regularly  visit  the  cities,  North,  South, 
and  West,  to  investigate  frauds,  has  talked  much  with 


12  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

me  (1869-70)  about  his  discoveries.  The  depravity  of 
the  business  classes  of  our  country  is  not  less  than  has 
been  supposed,  but  infinitely  greater.  The  whole  of  the 
official  services  of  America,  National,  State,  and  Munici 
pal,  in  all  their  branches  and  departments,  except  the 
Judiciary,  are  steeped,  saturated  in  corruption,  bribery, 
falsehood,  mal-administration ;  and  the  Judiciary  is 
tainted.  The  great  cities  reek  with  respectable  as  much 
as  non-respectable  robbery  and  scoundrelism.  In  fash 
ionable  life,  flippancy,  tepid  amours,  weak  infidelism, 
small  aims,  or  no  aims  at  all,  only  to  kill  time.  In  busi 
ness,  (this  all-devouring  modern  word,  business,)  the  one 
sole  object  is,  by  any  means,  pecuniary  gain.  The  ma 
gician's  serpent  in  the  fable  ate  up  ail  the  other  ser 
pents  ;  and  money-making  is  our  magician's  serpent, 
remaining  to-day  sole  master  of  the  field.  The  best 
class  we  show,  is  but  a,  mob  of  fashionably-dressed 
speculators  and  vulgarians.  True,  indeed,  behind  this 
fantastic  farce,  enacted  on  the  visible  stage  of  society, 
solid  things  and  stupendous  labors  are  to  be  discovered, 
existing  crudely  and  going  on  in  the  background,  to  ad 
vance  and  tell  themselves  in  time.  Yet  the  truths  are 
none  the  less  terrible.  I  say  that  our  New  World  De 
mocracy,  however  great  a  success  in  uplifting  the  masses 
out  of  their  sloughs,  in  materialistic  development,  pro 
ducts,  and  in  a  certain  highly-deceptive  superficial  popu 
lar  intellectuality,  is,  so  far,  an  almost  complete  failure 
in  its  social  aspects,  in  any  superb  general  personal 
character,  and  in  really  grand  religious,  moral,  literary, 
and  esthetic  results.  In  vain  do  we  march  with  unpre 
cedented  strides  to  empire  so  colossal,  outvying  the  an 
tique,  beyond  Alexander's,  beyond  the  proudest  sway  of 
Borne.  In  vain  do  we  annex  Texas,  California,  Alaska, 
and  reach  north  for  Canada  and  south  for  Cuba.  It  is 
as  if  we  were  somehow  being  endowed  with  a  vast  and 
more  and  more  thoroughly-appointed  body,  and  then 
left  with  little  or  no  soul. 

Let  me  illustrate  further,  as  I  write,  with  current  ob 
servations,  localities,  &c.  The  subject  is  important,  and 
will  bear  repetition.  After  an  absence,  I  am  now  (Sep- 


DEMOCRATIC:  VISTAS.  13 

tember,  1870,)  again  in  New  York  City  and  Brooklyn,  on 
a  few  weeks'  vacation.  The  splendor,  picturesqueness, 
and  oceanic  amplitude  and  rush  of  these  great  cities, 
the  unsurpassed  situation,  rivers  and  bay,  sparkling  sea- 
tides,  costly  and  lofty  new  buildings,  the  facades  of 
marble  and  iron,  of  original  grandeur  and  elegance  of 
design,  with  the  masses  of  gay  color,  the  preponderance 
of  white  and  blue,  the  flags  flying,  the  endless  ships, 
the  tumultuous  streets,  Broadway,  the  heavy,  low,  mu 
sical  roar,  hardly  ever  intermitted,  even  at  night ;  the 
jobbers'  houses,  the  rich  shops,  the  wharves,  the  great 
Central  Park,  and  the  Brooklyn  Park  of  Hills,  (as  I 
wander  among  them  this  beautiful  fall  weather,  musing, 
watching,  absorbing,) — the  assemblages  of  the  citizens 
in  their  groups,  conversations,  trade,  evening  amuse 
ments,  or  along  the  by-quarters — these,  I  say,  and  the 
like  of  these,  completely  satisfy  my  senses  of  power,  ful 
ness,  motion,  &c.,  and  give  me,  through  such  senses 
and  appetites,  and  through  my  esthetic  conscience,  a 
continued  exaltation  and  absolute  fuliilment.  Always, 
and  more  and  more,  as  I  cross  the  East  and  North 
rivers,  the  ferries,  or  with  the  pilots  in  their  pilot-houses, 
or  pass  an  hour  in  Wall  street,  or  the  gold  exchange,  I 
realize,  (if  we  must  admit  such  par tiali sins,)  that  not 
Nature  alone  is  great  in  her  fields  of  freedom  and  the 
open  air,  in  her  storms,  the  shows  of  night  and  day, 
the  mountains,  forests,  seas — but  in  the  artificial,  the 
work  of  .man  too  is  equally  great — in  this  profusion  of 
teeming  humanity,  in  these  ingenuities,  streets,  goods, 
houses,  ships — these  seething,  hurrying,  feverish  crowds 
of  men,  their  complicated  business  genius,  (not  least 
among  the  geniuses,)  and  all  this  mighty,  many-threaded 
wealth  and  industry  concentrated  here. 

But  sternly  discarding,  shutting  our  eyes  to  the  glow 
and  grandeur  of  the  general  effect,  coming  down  to  what 
is  of  the  only  real  importance,  Personalities,  and  exam 
ining  minutely,  we  question,  we  ask,  Are  there,  indeed, 
Men  here  worthy  the  name  ?  Are  there  athletes  ?  Are 
there  perfect  women,  to  match  the  generous  material 
luxuriance?  Is  there  a  pervading  atmosphere  of  beau 
tiful  manners?  Are  there  crops  of  fine  youths,  and  raa- 


14  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

jestic  old  persons?  Are  there  arts  worthy  Freedom, 
and  a  rich  people  ?  Is  there  a  great  moral  and  religious 
civilization — the  only  justification  of  a  great  material 
one  ? 

Confess  that  rather  to  severe  eyes,  using  the  moral 
microscope  upon  humanity,  a  sort  of  dry  and  flat  Sa 
hara  appears,  these  cities,  crowded  with  petty  grotesques, 
malformations,  phantoms,  playing  meaningless  antics. 
Confess  that  everywhere,  in  shop,  street,  church,  theatre, 
bar-room,  official  chair,  are  pervading  flippancy  and  vul 
garity,  low  cunning,  infidelity — everywhere,  the  youth 
puny,  impudent,  foppish,  prematurely  ripe — everywhere 
an  abnormal  libidinousneas,  unhealthy  forms,  male,  fe 
male,  painted,  padded,  dyed,  chignoned,  muddy  com 
plexions,  bad  blood,  the  capacity  for  good  motherhood, 
deceasing  or  deceased,  shallow  notions  of  beauty,  with 
a  range  of  manners,  or  rather  lack  of  manners,  (consid 
ering  the  advantages  enjoyed,)  probably  the  meanest  to 
be  seen  in  the  world.* 

Of  all  this,  and  these  lamentable  conditions,  to  breathe 
into  them  the  breath  recuperative  of  sane  and  heroic 
life,  I  say  a  new  founded  Literature,  not  merely  to  copy 
and  reflect  existing  surfaces,  or  pander  to  wiiat  is  called 
taste — not  only  to  amuse,  pass  away  time,  celebrate  the 
beautiful,  the  refined,  the  past,  or  exhibit  technical, 


*  Of  these  rapidly-sketched  portraitures,  hiatuses,  the  two  which 
seem  to  me  most  serious  are,  for  one,  the  condition,  absence,  or 
perhaps  the  singular  abeyance,  of  moral,  conscientious  fibre  all 
tli rough  American  society;  and,  for  another,  the  appalling  deple 
tion  of  women  in  their  powers  of  sane  athletic  maternity,  their 
crowning  attribute,  and  ever  making  the  woman,  in  loftiest 
spheres,  superior  to  the  man. 

I  have  sometimes  thought,  indeed,  that  the  sole  avenue  and 
means  of  a  reconstructed  sociology  depended,  primarily,  on  a  new 
birth,  elevation,  expansion,  invigoration  of  woman,  affording,  for 
races  to  come,  (as  the  conditions  that  antedate  birth  are  indispen 
sable,)  a  perfect  motherhood.  Great,  groat,  indeed  far  greater 
than  they  know,  is  the  sphere  of  women.  But  doubtless  the 
question  of  such  new  sociology  all  goes  together,  includes  many 
varied  and  complex  influences  and  premises,  and  the  man  as  well 
as  the  woman.,  and  the  woman  as  well  as  the  man. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  15' 

rhythmic,  or  grammatical  dexterity — but  a  Literature 
underlying  life,  religious,  consistent  with  science,  hand 
ling  the  elements  and  forces  with  competent  power, 
teaching  and  training  men — and,  as  perhaps  the  most 
precious  of  its  results,  achieving  the  entire  redemption 
of  woman  out  of  these  incredible  holds  and  webs  of  sil 
liness,  millinery,  and  every  kind  of  dyspeptic  depletion 
— and  thus  insuring  to  The  States  a  strong  and  sweet 
Female  Race,  a  race  of  perfect  Mothers — is  what  is 
needed.  . 

And  now,  in  the  full  conception  of  these  facts  and 
points,  and  all  that  they  infer,  pro  and  con- — with  yet 
unshaken  faith  in  the  elements  of  the  American  masses, 
the  composites,  of  both  sexes,  and  even  considered  as 
individuals — and  ever  recognizing  in  them  the  broad 
est  bases  of  the  best  literary  and  esthetic  appreciation 
— I  proceed  with  my  speculations,  Vistas. 

First,  let  us  see  what  we  can  make  out  of  a  brief,  gen 
eral,  sentimental  consideration  of  political  Democracy, 
and  whence  it  has  arisen,  with  regard  to  some  of  its 
current  features,  as  an  aggregate,  and  as  the  basic 
structure  of  our  future  literature  and  authorship.  We 
shall,  it  is  true,  quickly  and  continually  find  the  origin- 
idea  of  the  singleness  of  man,  individualism,  asserting 
itself,  and  cropping  forth,  even  from  the  opposite  ideas. 
But  the  mass,  or  lump  character,  for  imperative  rea 
sons,  is  to  be  ever  carefully  weighed,  borne  in  mind, 
and  provided  for.  Only  from  it,  and  from  its  proper 
regulation  and  potency,  comes  the  other,  comes  the 
chance  of  Individualism.  The  two  are  contradictory, 
but  our  task  is  to  reconcile  them.* 

*  The  question  hinted  here  is  one  which  time  only  can  answer. 
Must  not  the  virtue  of  modern  Individualism,  continually  enlarg 
ing,  usurping  all,  seriously  affect,  perhaps  keep  down  entirely,  in 
America,  the  like  of  the  ancient  virtue  of  Patriotism,  the  fervid 
and  absorbing  love  of  general  country?  I  have  no  doubt  myself 
that  the  two  will  merge,  and  will  mutually  profit  and  brace  each 
other,  and  that  from  them  a  greater  product,  a  third,  will  arise. 
But  I  feel  that  at  present  they  and  their  oppositions  form  a  serious 
problem  and  paradox  in  the  United  States. 


16  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

The  political  history  of  the  past  may  be  summed  up 
as  having  grown  out  of  what  underlies  the  words  Order, 
Safety,  Caste,  and  especially  out  of  the  need  of  some 
prompt  deciding  Authority,  and  of"  Cohesion,  at  all 
cost.  Leaping  time,  we  come  to  the  period  within  the 
memory  of  people  now  living,  when,  as  from  some  lair 
where  they  had  slumbered  long,  accumulating  wrath, 
sprang  up  and  are  yet  active,  (1790,  and  on  even  to  the 
present,  1870,)  those  noisy  eructations,  destructive  icon- 
oclasms,  a  fierce  sense  of  wrongs,  and  amid  which  moves 
the  Eorni,  well  known  in  modern  history,  in  the  old 
world,  stained  with  much  blood,  and  marked  by  savage 
reactionary  clamors  and  demands.  These  bear,  mostly, 
as  on  one  enclosing  point  of  need. 

For  after  the  rest  is  said — after  the  many  time-hon 
ored  and  really  true  things  for  subordination,  experi 
ence,  rights  of  property,  &c.,  have  been  listened  to  and 
acquiesced  in — after  the  valuable  and  well-settled  state 
ment  of  our  duties  and  relations  in  society  is  thoroughly 
conned  over  and  exhausted — it  remains  to  bring  forward 
and  modify  everything  else  with  the  idea  of  that  Some 
thing  a  man  is,  (last  precious  consolation  of  the  drudg 
ing  poor,)  standing  apart  from  all  else,  divine  in  his 
own  right,  and  a  woman  in  hers,  sole  and  untouchable 
by  any  canons  of  authority,  or  any  rule  derived  from 
precedent,  state-safety,  the  acts  of  legislatures,  or  even 
from  what  is  called  religion,  modesty,  or  art. 

The  radiation  of  this  truth  is  the  key  of  the  most  sig 
nificant  dojngs  of  our  immediately  preceding  three 
centuries,  and  has  been  the  political  genesis  and  life  of 
America.  Advancing  visibly,  it  still  more  advances  in 
visibly.  Underneath  the  fluctuations  of  the  expressions 
of  society,  as  well  as  the  movements  of  the  politics  of 
{he  leading  nations  of  the  world,  we  see  steadily  press 
ing  ahead,  and  strengthening  itself,  even  in  the  midst 
of  immense  tendencies  toward  aggregation,  this  image 
of  completeness  in  separatism,  of  individual  personal 
dignity,  of  a  single  person,  either  male  or  female,  char 
acterized  in  the  main,  not  from  extrinsic  acquirements 
or  position,  but  in  the  pride  of  himself  or  herself  alone; 
and,  as  an  eventual  conclusion  and  summing  up,  (or 


EATIG  VISTAS.  17 


else  the  entire  scheme  of  things  is  aimless,  a  cheat,  a 
crash,)  the  simple  idea  that  the  last,  best  dependence  is 
to  be  upon  Humanity  itself,  and  its  own  inherent,  nor 
mal,  full-grown  qualities,  without  any  superstitious  sup 
port  whatever.  This  idea  of  perfect  individualism  it  is 
indeed  that  deepest  tinges  and  gives  character  to  the 
idea  of  the  Aggregate.  For  it  is  mainly  or  altogether 
to  serve  independent  separatism  that  we  favor  a  strong 
generalization,  consolidation.  As  it  is  to  give  the  best 
vitality  and  freedom  to  the  rights  of  the  States,  (every 
bit  as  important  as  the  right  of  Nationality,  the  union,) 
that  we  insist  on  the  identity  of  the  Union  at  all  hazards. 

The  purpose  of  Democracy  —  supplanting  old  belief 
in  the  necessary  absoluteness  of  established  dynastic 
rulership,  temporal,  ecclesiastical,  and  scholastic,  as 
furnishing  the  only  security  against  chaos,  crime,  and 
ignorance  —  is,  through  many  transmigrations,  and  amid 
endless  ridicules,  arguments,  and  ostensible  failures,  to 
illustrate,  at  all  hazards,  this  doctrine  or  theory  that 
man,  properly  trained  in  sanest,  highest  freedom,  may 
and  must  become  a  law,  and  series  of  laws,  unto  him 
self,  surrounding  and  providing  for,  not  only  his  own 
personal  control,  but  all  his  relations  to  other  individ 
uals,'  and  to  the  State  ;  and  that,  while  other  theories, 
as  in  the  past  histories  of  nations,  have  proved  wise 
enough,  and  indispensable  perhaps  for  their  conditions, 
this,  as  matters  now  stand  in  our  civilized  world,  is  the 
only  Scheme  worth  working  from,  as  warranting  results 
like  those  of  Nature's  laws,  reliable,  when  once  estab 
lished,  to  carry  on  themselves. 

The  argument  of  the  matter  is  extensive,  and,  we  ad 
mit,  by  no  means  all  on  one  side.  What  we  shall  offer 
•will  be  far,  far  from  sufficient.  But  while  leaving  un 
said  much  that  should  properly  even  prepare  the  way 
for  the  treatment  of  this  many-sided  question  of  politi 
cal  liberty,  equality,  or  republicanism  —  leaving  the  whole 
history  and  consideration  of  the  Feudal  Plan  and  its 
products,  embodying  Humanity,  its  politics  and  civili 
zation,  through  the  retrospect  of  past  time,  (which  Plan 
and  products,  indeed,  make  up  all  of  the  past,  and  a 
major  part  of  the  present)  —  Leaving  unanswered,  at 


18  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

least  by  any  specific  and  local  answer,  many  a  -well- 
wrought  argument  and  instance,  and  many  a  conscien 
tious  declamatory  cry  and  warning — as,  very  lately, 
from  an  eminent  and  venerable  person  abroad* — 
things,  problems,  full  of  doubt,  dread,  suspense,  (not 
new  to  me,  but  old  occupiers  of  many  an  anxious  hour 
in  city's  din,  or  night's  silence,)  we  still  may  give  a  page 
or  so,  whose  drift  is  opportune.  Time  alone  can  finally 
answer  these  things.  But  as  a  substitute  in  passing,  let 
us,  even  if  fragmentarily,  throw  forth  a  short  direct  or 
indirect  suggestion  of  the  premises  of  that  other  Plan, 
in  the  new  spirit,  under  the  new  forms,  started  here  in 
our  America. 

As  to  the  political  section  of  Democracy,  which  intro 
duces  and  breaks  ground  for  further  and  vaster  sec 
tions,  few  probably  are  the  minds,  even  in  These  Re 
publican  States,  that  fully  comprehend  the  aptness  of 
that  phrase,  "  THE  GOVERNMENT  OF  THE  PEOPLE,  BY  THE 
PEOPLE,  FOE  THE  PEOPLE/'  which  we  inherit  from  the  lips 
of  Abraham  Lincoln  ;  a  formula  whose  verbal  shape  is 
homely  wit,  but  whose  scope  includes  both  the  totality 
and  all  minutiae  of  the  lesson. 

The  People !  Like  our  huge  earth  itself,  which,  to 
ordinary  scansion,  is  full  of  vulgar  contradictions  and 
offence,  Man,  viewed  in  the  lump,  displeases,  and  is  a 
constant  puzzle  and  affront  to  the  merely  educated 
classes.  The  rare,  cosmical,  artist-mind,  lit  with  the 
Infinite,  alone  confronts  his  manifold  and  oceanic  qual 
ities,  but  taste,  intelligence  and  culture,  (so-called,)  have 
been  against  the  masses,  and  remain  so.  There  is 
plenty  of  glamour  about  the  most  damnable  crimes  and 

*  (:  SHOOTING  NIAGARA." — I  was  at  first  roused  to  much  anger 
and  abuse  by  this  Essay  from  Mr.  Carlyle,  so  insulting  to  the  the 
ory  of  America — but  happening  to  think  afterwards  how  I  had 
more  than  once  been  in  the  like  mood,  during  which  his  essay 
was  evidently  cast,  and  seen  persons  and  things  in  the  same  light, 
(indeed  some  might  say  there  are  signs  of  the  same  feeling  in  this 
book) — I  have  since  read  it  again,  not  only  as  a  study,  expressing 
as  it  does  certain  judgments  from  the  highest  Feudal  point  of 
view,  but  have  read  it  with  respect,  as  coming  from  an  earnest 
soul,  and  as  contributing  certain  sharp-cutting  metallic  grains, 
which,  if  not  gold  or  silver,  may  be  good  hard,  honest  iron. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  19 

hoggish  meannesses,  special  and  general,  of  the  Feudal 
and  dynastic  world  over  there,  with  its  personnel  of 
lords  and  queens  and  courts,  so  well-dressed  and  so 
handsome.  But  the  People  are  ungrammatical,  untidy, 
and  their  sins  gaunt  and  ill-bred. 

Literature,  strictly  considered,  has  never  recognized 
the  People,  and,  whatever  may  be  said,  does  not  to-day. 
Speaking  generally,  the  tendencies  of  literature,  as  hith 
erto  pursued,  have  been  to  mate  mostly  critical  and 
querulous  men.  It  seems  as  if,  so  far,  there  were  some 
natural  repugnance  between  a  literary  and  professional 
life,  and  the  rude  rank  spirit  of  the  Democracies.  There 
is,  in  later  literature,  a  treatment  of  benevolence,  a 
charity  business,  rife  enough  it  is  true ;  but  I  know 
nothing  more  rare,  even  in  this  country,  than  a  fit  scien 
tific  estimate  and  reverent  appreciation  of  the  People — 
of  their  measureless  wealth  of  latent  power  and  capacity, 
their  vast,  artistic  contrasts  of  lights  and  shades — with, 
in  America,  their  entire  reliability  in  emergencies,  and 
a  certain  breadth  of  historic  grandeur,  of  peace  or  war, 
far  suspassing  all  the  vaunted  samples  of  book-heroes, 
or  any  haul  ton  coteries,  in  all  the  records  of  the  world. 

The  movements  of  the  late  Secession  war,  and  their 
results,  to  any  sense  that  studies  well  and  compre 
hends  them,  show  that  Popular  Democracy,  whatever 
its  faults  and  dangers,  practically  justifies  itself  beyond 
the  proudest  claims  and  wildest  hopes  of  its  enthusiasts. 
Probably  no  future  age  can  know,  but  I  well  know,  how 
the  gist  of  this  fiercest  and  most  resolute  of  the  world's 
warlike  contentions  resided  exclusively  in  the  unnamed, 
unknown  rank  and  file  ;  and  how  the  brunt  of  its  labor 
of  death  was,  to  all  essential  purposes,  Volunteered. 
The  People,  of  their  own  choice,  fighting,  dying  for 
their  own  idea,  insolently  attacked  by  the  Secession- 
Slave-Power,  and  its  very  existence  imperiled.  De 
scending  to  detail,  entering  any  of  the  armies,  and 
mixing  with  the  private  soldiers,  we  see  and  have  seen 
augnst  spectacles.  We  have  seen  the  alacrity  with  which 
the  American-born  populace,  the  peaceablest  and  most 
good-natured  race  in  the  world,  and  the  most  personally 
independent  and  intelligent,  and  the  least  fitted  to  submit 


20  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

to  the  irksomeness  and  exasperation  of  regimental  disci 
pline,  sprang,  at  the  first  tap  of  the  drum,  to  arms — not 
for  gain,  nor  even  glory,  nor  to  repel  invasion — but  for 
an  emblem,  a  mere  abstraction — for.  the  life,  the  safety 
of  the  flag.  We  have  seen  the  unequaled  docility  and 
obedience,  of  these  soldiers.  We  have  seen  them  tried 
long  and  long  by  hopelessness,  mismanagement,  and  by 
defeat ;  have  seen  the  incredible  slaughter  toward  or 
through  which  the  armies,  (as  at  first  Fredericksburg, 
and  afterward  at  the  Wilderness,)  still  unhesitating 
ly  obeyed  orders  to  advance.  We  have  seen  them 
in  trench,  or  crouching  behind  breastwork,  or  tramp 
ing  in  deep  mud,  or  amid  pouring  rain  or  thick- 
falling  snow,  or  under  forced  marches  in  hottest  summer 
(as  on  the  road  to  get  to  Gettysburg) — vast  suffocating 
swarms,  divisions,  corps,  with  every  single  man  so  grimed 
and  black  with  sweat  and  dust,  his  own  mother  would  not 
have  known  him — his  clothes  all  dirty,  stained  and  torn, 
with  sour,  accumulated  sweat  for  perfume — many  a 
comrade,  perhaps  a  brother,  sun-struck,  staggering  out, 
dying,  by  the  roadside,  of  exhaustion — yet  the  great 
bulk  bearing  steadily  on,  cheery  enough,  hollow-bellied 
from  hunger,  but  sinewy  with  unconquerable  resolution. 
We  have  seen  this  race  proved  by  wholesale  by 
drearier,  yet  more  fearful  tests — the  wound,  the  ampu 
tation,  the  shattered  face  or  limb,  the  slow,  hot  fever, 
long,  impatient  anchorage  in  bed,  and  all  the  forms  of 
maiming,  operation  and  disease.  Alas !  America  have 
we  seen,  though  only  in  her  early  youth,  already  to 
hospital  brought.  There  have  we  watched  these  sol 
diers,  many  of  them  only  boys  in  years — marked  their 
decorum,  their  religious  nature  and  fortitude,  and  their 
sweet  affection.  Wholesale,  truly.  For  at  the  front,  and 
through  the  camps,  in  countless  tents,  stood  the  regi 
mental,  brigade  and  division  hospitals  ;  while  every 
where  amid  the  land,  in  or  near  cities,  rose  clusters  of 
huge,  white-washed,  crowded,  one-story  wooden  bar 
racks,  (Washington  City  alone,  with  its  suburbs,  at 
one  period,  containing  in  her  Army  hospitals  of  this 
kind,  50,000  wounded  and  sick  men) — and  there  ruled 
Agony  with  bitter  scourge,  yet  seldom  brought  a  cry ; 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  21 

and  there  stalked  Death  by  day  and  night  along  the 
narrow  aisles  between  the  rows  of  cots,  or  by  the 
blankets  on  the  ground,  and  touched  lightly  many  a 
poor  sufferer,  often  with  blessed,  welcome  touch. 

I  know  not  whether  I  shall  be  understood,  but  I 
realize  that  it  is  finally  from  what  I  learned  personally 
mixing  in  such  scenes  that  I  am  now  penning  these 
pages.  One  night  in  the  gloomiest  period  of  the  war, 
in  the  Patent  Office  Hospital  in  Washington  City,  as  I 
stood  by  the  bedside  of  a  Pennsylvania  soldier,  who  lay, 
conscious  of  quick  approaching  death,  yet  perfectly  calm, 
and  with  noble,  spiritual  manner,  the  veteran  surgeon, 
turning  aside,  said  to  me,  that  though  he  had  witnessed 
many,  many  deaths  of  soldiers,  and  had  been  a  worker 
at  Bull  Run,  Antietam,  Fredericksburg,  &G.,  he  had 
not  seen  yet  the  first  case  of  man  or  boy  that  met  the 
approach  of  dissolution  with  cowardly  qualms  or  terror. 
My  own  observation  fully  bears  out  the  remark. 

What  have  we  here,  if  not,  towering  above  all  talk 
and  argument,  the  plentifully-supplied,  last-needed 
proof  of  Democracy,  in  its  personalities  ?  Curiously 
enough,  too,  the  proof  on  this  point  comes,  I  should  say, 
every  bit  as  much  from  the  South,  as  from  the  North. 
Although  I  have  spoken  only  of  the  latter,  yet  I  delib 
erately  include  all.  Grand,  common  stock !  to  me  the 
accomplished  and  convincing  growth,  prophetic  of  the 
future  ;  proof  undeniable  to  sharpest  sense,  of  perfect 
beauty,  tenderness  and  pluck,  that  never  Feudal  lord, 
nor  Greek,  nor  Roman  breed,  yet  rivaled.  Let  no 
tongue  ever  speak  in  disparagement  of  the  American 
races,  North  or  South,  to  one  who  has  been  through  the 
war  in  the  great  army  hospitals. 

Meantime,  general  Humanity,  (for  to  that  we  return, 
as,  for  our  purposes,  what  it  really  is,  to  bear  in  mind,) 
has  always,  in  every  department,  been  full  of  perverse 
maleficence,  and  is  so  yet.  In  downcast  hours  the  Soul 
thinks  it  always  will  be — but  soon  recovers  from  such 
sickly  moods.  I,  as  Democrat,  see  clearly  enough,  (as 
already  illustrated,)  the  crude,  defective  streaks  in  all 
the  strata  of  the  common  people  ;  the  specimens  and 
vast  collections  of  the  ignorant,  the  credulous,  the  unfit 


22  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

and  uncouth,  the  incapable,  and  the  very  low  and  poor. 
The  eminent  person  just  mentioned,  sneeringly  asks 
whether  we  expect  to  elevate  and  improve  a  Nation's 
politics  by  absorbing  such  morbid  collections  and  qual 
ities  therein.  The  point  is  a  formidable  one,  and  there 
will  doubtless  always  be  numbers  of  solid  and  reflective 
citizens  who  will  never  get  over  it.  Our  answer  is  gen 
eral,  and  is  involved  in  the  scope  and  letter  of  this  essay. 
We  believe  the  ulterior  object  of  political  and  all  other 
government,' (having,  of  course,  provided  for  the  police, 
the  safety  of  life,  property,  and  for  the  basic  statute  and 
common  law,  and  their  administration,  always  first  in 
order,)  to  be,  among  the  rest,  not  merely  to  rule,  to  re 
press  disorder,  &c.,  but  to  develop,  to  open  up  to  culti 
vation,  to  encourage  the  possibilities  of  all  beneficent 
and  manly  outer oppage,  and  of  that  aspiration  for  inde 
pendence,  and  the  pride  and  self-respect  latent  in  all 
characters.  (Or,  if  there  be  exceptions,  we  cannot,  fix 
ing  our  eyes  on  them  alone,  make  theirs  the  rule  for  all.) 

I  say  the  mission  of  government,  henceforth,  in  civil 
ized  lands,  is  not  repression  alone,  and  not  authority 
alone,  not  even  of  law,  nor  by  that  favorite  standard  of 
the  eminent  writer,  the  rule  of  the  best  men,  the  born 
heroes  and  captains  of  the  race,  (as  if  such  ever,  or  one 
time  out  of  a  hundred,  get  into  the  big  places,  elective 
or  dynastic!) — but,  higher  than  the  highest  arbitrary 
rule,  to  train  communities  through  all  their  grades,  be 
ginning  with  individuals  and  ending  there  again,  to  rule 
themselves. 

What  Christ  appeared  for  in  the  moral-spiritual  field 
for  Human-kind,  namely,  that  in  respect  to  the  absolute 
Soul,  there  is  in  the  possession  of  such  by  each  single 
individual,  something  so  transcendent,  so  incapable  of 
gradations,  (like  life,)  that,  to  that  extent,  it  places  all 
beings  on  a  common  level,  utterly  regardless  of  the  dis 
tinctions  of  intellect,  virtue,  station,  or  any  height  or 
lowliness  whatever — is  tallied  in  like  manner,  in  this 
other  field,  by  Democracy's  rule  that  men,  the  Nation, 
as  a  common  aggregate  of  living  identities,  affording 
in  each  a  separate  and  complete  subject  for  freedom, 
worldly  thrift  and  happiness,  and  for  a  fair  chance  for 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  23 

growth,  and  for  protection  in  citizenship,  &c.,  must,  to 
the  political  extent  of  the  suffrage  or  vote,  if  no  further, 
be  placed,  in  each  and  in  the  whole,  on  one  broad,  pri 
mary,  universal,  common  platform. 

The  purpose  is  not  altogether  direct ;  perhaps  it  is 
more  indirect.  For  it  is  not  that  Democracy  is  of  ex 
haustive  account,  in  itself.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  is,  (like 
Nature,)  of  no  account  in  itself.  It  is  that,  as  we  see, 
it  is  the  best,  perhaps  only,  fit  and  full  means,  formu- 
later,  general  caller-forth,  trainer,  for  the  million,  not 
for  grand  material  personalities  only,  but  for  immortal 
souls.  To  be  a  voter  with  the  rest  is  not  so  much  ;  and 
this,  like  every  institute,  will  have  its  imperfections. 
But  to  become  an  enfranchised  mart,  and  now,  impedi 
ments  removed,  to  stand  and  start  without  humiliation, 
and  equal  with  the  rest ;  to  commence,  or  have  the  road 
cleared  to  commence,  the  grand  experiment  of  develop 
ment,  whose  end,  (perhaps  requiting  several  genera 
tions,)  m?,y  be  the  forming  of  a  full-grown  man  or 
woman  — that  is  something.  To  ballast  the  State  is 
also  secured,  and  in  our  times  is  to  be  secured,  in  no 
other  way. 

We  do  not,  (at  any  rate  I  do  not,)  put  it  either  on  the 
ground  that  the  People,  the  masses,  even  the  best  of 
them,  are,  in  their  latent  or  exhibited  qualities,  essen 
tially  sensible  and  good — nor  on  the  ground  of  their 
rights ;  but  that,  good  or  bad,  rights  or  no  rights,  the 
Democratic  formula  is  the  only  safe  and  preservative 
one  for  coming  times.  We  endow  the  masses  with  the 
suffrage  for  their  own  sake,  no  doubt ;  then,  perhaps 
still  more,  from  another  point  of  view,  for  community's 
sake.  Leaving  the  rest  to  the  sentimentalists,  we  pre 
sent  Freedom  as  sufficient  in  its  scientific  aspects,  cold 
as  ice,  reasoning,  deductive,  clear  and  passionless  as 
crystal. 

Democracy  too  is  law,  and  of  the  strictest,  amplest 
kind.  Many  suppose,  (and  often  in  its  own  ranks  the 
error,)  that  it  means  a  throwing  aside  of  law,  and  run 
ning  riot.  But,  briefly,  it  is  the  superior  law,  not  alone 
that  of  physical  force,  the  body,  which,  adding  to,  it 
supersedes  with  that  of  the  spirit.  Law  is  the  unshaka- 


24  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

ble  order  of  tlie  universe  forever  ;  and  the  law  over  all, 
and  law  of  laws,  is  the  law  of  successions  ;  that  of  the 
superior  law,  in  time,  gradually  supplanting  and  over 
whelming  the  inferior  one.  (While,  for  myself,  I  would 
cheerfully  agree — first  covenanting  that  the  formative 
tendencies  shall  be  administered  in  favor,  or,  at  least 
not  against  it,  and  that  this  reservation  be  closely  con 
strued — that  until  the  individual  or  community  show 
due  signs,  or  be  so  minor  and  fractional  as  not  to  en 
danger  the  State,  the  condition  of  authoritative  tutel 
age  may  continue,  and  self-government  must  abide  its 
time.) 

— Nor  is  the  esthetic  point,  always  an  important  one, 
without  fascination^for  highest  aiming  souls.  The  com 
mon  ambition  strains  for  elevations,  to  become  some 
privileged  exclusive.  The  master  sees  greatness  and 
health  in  being  part  of  the  mass.  Nothing  will  do  as 
well  as  common  ground.  Would  you  have  in  yourself 
the  divine,  vast,  general  law?  Then  merge  yourself 
in  it. 

And,  topping  Democracy,  this  most  alluring  record, 
that  it  alone  can  bind,  and  ever  seeks  to  bind,  all  na 
tions,  all  men,  of  however  various  and  distant  lands, 
into  a  brotherhood,  a  family.  It  is  the  old,  yet  ever- 
modern  dream  of  Earth,"  out  of  her  eldest  and  her 
youngest,  her  fond  philosophers  and  poets.  Not  that 
half  only,  Individualism,  which  isolates.  There  is  an 
other  half,  which  is  Adhesiveness  or  Love,  that  fuses, 
ties  and  aggregates,  making  the  races  comrades,  and 
fraternizing  all.  Both  are  to  be  vitalized  by  Religion, 
(sole  worthiest  elevator  of  man  or  State,)  breathing  into 
the  proud,  material  tissues,  the  breath  of  life.  For  I 
say  at  the  core  of  Democracy,  finally,  is  the  Religious 
element.  All  the  Religions,  old  and  new,  are  there. 
Nor  may  the  Scheme  step  forth,  clothed  in  resplendent 
beauty  and  command,  till  these,  bearing  the  best,  the 
latest  fruit,  the  Spiritual,  shall  fully  appear. 

A  portion  of  our  pages  we  might  indite  with  refer 
ence  toward  Europe,  especially  the  British  part  of  it, 
more  than  our  own  land,  and  thus,  perhaps  not  abso- 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  25 

lutely  needed  for  the  home  reader.  But  the  whole  ques 
tion  hangs  together,  and  fastens  and  links  all  peoples. 
The  Liberalist  of  to-day  has  this  advantage  over  antique 
or  medieval  times,  that  his  doctrine  seeks  not  only  to 
universalize,  but  to  individualize.  Then  the  great  word 
Solidarity  has  arisen. 

I  say  of  all  dangers  to  a  Nation,  as  things  exist  in 
our  day,  there  can  be  no  greater  one  than  having  cer 
tain  portions  of  the  people  set  off  from  the  rest  by  a 
line  drawn — they  not  privileged  as  others,  but  degraded, 
humiliated,  made  of  no  account.  Much  quackery  teems, 
of  coarse,  even  on  Democracy's  side,  yet  does  not  really 
affect  the  orbic  quality  of  the  matter.  To  work  in,  if 
we  may  so  term  it,  and  justify  God,  his  divine  aggre 
gate,  the  People,  (or,  the  veritable  horned  and  sharp- 
tailed  Devil,  his  aggregate,  if  there  be  who  convulsively 
insist  upon  it,) — this,  I  say,  is  what  Democracy  is  for  ; 
and  this  is  what  our  America  means,  and  is  doing — may 
I  not  say,  has  done  ?  If  not,  she  means  nothing  more, 
and  does  nothing  more,  than  any  other  land.  And  as, 
by  virtue  of  its  kosmical,  antiseptic  power,  Nature's 
stomach  is  fully  strong  enough  not  only  to  digest  the 
morbific  matter  always  presented,  not  to  be  turned  aside, 
and  perhaps,  indeed,  intuitively  gravitating  thither — but 
even  to  change  such  contributions  into  nutriment  for 
highest  use  and  life — so  American  Democracy's.  That 
is  the  lesson  we,  these  days,  send  over  to  European 
lands  by  every  western  breeze. 

And,  truly,  whatever  may  be  said  in  the  way  of  ab 
stract  argument,  for  or  against  the  theory  of  a  wider 
democratizing  of  institutions  in  any  civilized  country, 
much  trouble  might  well  be  saved  to  all  European  lands 
by  recognizing  this  palpable  fact,  (for  a  palpable  fact  it 
is,)  that  some  form  of  such  democratizing  is  about  the 
only  resource  now  left.  That,  or  chronic  dissatisfaction 
continued,  mutterings  which  grow  annually  louder  and 
louder,  till,  in  due  course,  and  pretty  swiftly  in  most 
cases,  the  inevitable  crisis,  crash,  dynastic  ruin.  Any 
thing  worthy  to  be  called  statesmanship  in  the  Old 
World,  I  should  say,  among  the  advanced  students, 


26  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

adepts,  or  men  of  any  brains,  does  not  debate  to-day 
whether  to  hold  on,  attempting  to  lean  back  and  mon- 
archize,  or  to  look  forward  and  democratize — but  how, 
and  in  what  degree  and  part,  most  prudently  to  demo 
cratize.  The  difficulties  of  the  transfer  may  be  fearful ; 
perhaps  none  here  in  our  America  can  truly  know  them. 
I,  for  one,  fully  acknowledge  them,  ancl  sympathize 
deeply.  But  there  is  Time,  and  must  be  Faith ;  and 
Opportunities,  though  gradual  and  slow,  will  every 
where  abroad  be  born. 

There  is  (turning  home  again,)  a  thought,  or  fact, 
I  must  not  forget — subtle  and  vast,  dear  to  America, 
twin-sister  of  its  Democracy — so  ligatured  indeed  to  it, 
that  either's  death,  if  not  the  other's  also,  would  make 
that  other  live  out  life,  dragging  a  corpse,  a  loathsome 
horrid  tag  and  burden  forever  at  its  feet.  What  the 
idea  of  Messiah  was  to  the  ancient  race  of  Israel, 
through  storm  and  calm,  through  public  glory  and 
their  name's  humiliation,  tenacious,  refusing  to  be  ar 
gued  with,  shedding  all  shafts  of  ridicule  and  disbelief, 
undestroyed  by  captivities,  battles,  deaths — for  neither 
the  scalding  blood  of  war,  nor  the  rotted  ichor  of  peace 
could  ever  wash  it  out,  nor  has  yet — a  great  Idea,  bed 
ded  in  Judah's  heart — source  of  the  loftiest  Poetry  the 
world  yet  knows — continuing  on  the  same,  though  all 
else  varies — the  spinal  thread  of  the  incredible  romance 
of  that  people's  career  along  five  thousand  years, — So 
runs  this  thought,  this  fact,  amid  our  own  land's  race 
and  history.  It  is  the  thought  of  Oneness,  averaging, 
including  all ;  of  Identity — the  indissoluble  sacred 
Union  of  These  States. 

The  eager  and  often  inconsiderate  appeals  of  reform 
ers  and  revolutionists  are  indispensable  to  counter 
balance  the  inertness  and  fossilism  making  so  large  a 
part  of  human  institutions.  The  latter  will  always  take 
care  of  themselves — the  danger  being  that  they  rapidly 
tend  to  ossify  us.  The  former  is  to  be  treated  with  in 
dulgence,  and  even  respect.  As  circulation  to  air,  so  is 
agitation  and  a  plentiful  degree  of  speculative  license 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  27 

to  political  and  moral  sanity.  Indirectly,  but  surely, 
goodness,  virtue,  law,  (of  the  very  best,)  follow  Free 
dom.  Theso,  to  Democracy,  are  what  the  keel  is  to  the 
ship,  or  saltness  to  the  ocean. 

The  true  gravitation-hold  of  Liberalism  in  the  United 
States  will  be  a  more  universal  ownership  of  property, 
general  homesteads,  general  comfort — a  vast,  inter 
twining  reticulation  of  wealth.  As  the  human  frame, 
or,  indeed,  any  object  in  this  manifold  Universe,  is  best 
kept  together  by  the  simple  miracle  of  its  own  cohesion, 
and  the  necessity,  exercise  and  profit  thereof,  so  a  great 
and  varied  Nationality,  occupying  millions  of  square 
miles,  were  firmest  held  and  knit  by  the  principle  of  the 
safety  and  endurance  of  the  aggregate  of  its  middling 
property  owners. 

So  that,  from  another  point  of  view,  ungracious  as  it 
may  sound,  and  a  paradox  after  what  we  have  been  say 
ing,  Democracy  looks  with  suspicious,  ill-satisfied  eye 
upon  the  very  poor,  the  ignorant,  and  on  those  out  of 
business.  She  asks  for  men  and  women  with  occupa 
tions,  well-off,  owners  of  houses  and  acres,  and  with 
cash  in  the  bank — and  with  some  cravings  for  litera 
ture,  too ;  and  must  have  them,  and  hastens  to  make 
them.  Luckily,  the  seed  is  already  well-sown,  and  has 
taken  ineradicable  root.* 

— Huge  and  mighty  are  our  Days,  our  republican 
lands — and  most  in  their  rapid  shif tings,  their  changes, 
all  in  the  interest  of  the  Cause.  As  I  write  this  pass- 

*  For  fear  of  mistake,  I  may  as  well  distinctly  announce,  as 
cheerfully  included  in  the  model  and  standard  of  These  Vistas,  a 
practical,  stirring,  worldly,  money-making,  even  materialistic 
character.  It  is  undeniable  that  our  farms,  stores,  offices,  dry- 
goods,  coal  and  groceries,  enginery,  cash-accounts,  trades,  earn 
ings,  markets,  &c.,  should  be  attended  to  in  earnest,  and  actively 
pursued,  just  as  if  they  had  a  real  and  permanent  existence.  I 
perceive  clearly  that  the  extreme  business  energy,  and  this  almost 
maniacal  appetite  for  wealth  prevalent  in  the  United  States,  are 
vital  parts  of  amelioration  and  progress,  and  perhaps  indispensa 
bly  needed  to  prepare  the  very  results  I  demand.  My  theory  in 
cludes  riches,  and  the  getting  of  riclies,  and  the  amplest  products, 
power,  activity,  inventions,  movements,  £c.  Upon  these,  as  upon 
substrata,  I  raise  the  edifice  designed  in  These  Vistas. 


28  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

age,  (November,  1868,)  the  din  of  disputation  rages 
around  me.  Acrid  the  temper  of  the  parties,  vital  the 
pending  questions.  Congress  convenes  ;  the  President 
sends  his  Message  ;  Reconstruction  is  still  in  abeyance  ; 
the  nominations  and  the  contest  for  the  twenty-first 
Presidentiad  draw  close,  with  loudest  threat  and  bustle. 
Of  these,  and  all  the  like  of  these,  the  eventuations  I 
know  not ;  but  well  I  know  that  behind  them,  and  what 
ever  their  eventuations,  the  really  vital  things  remain 
safe  and  certain,  and  all  the  needed  work  goes  on. 
Time,  with  soon  or  later  superciliousness,  disposes  of 
Presidents,  Congressmen,  party  platforms,  and  such. 
Anon,  it  clears  the  stage  of  each  and  any  mortal  shred 
that  thinks  itself  so  potent  to  its  day  ;  and  at  and  after 
which,  (with  precious,  golden  exceptions  once  or  twice 
in  a  century,)  all  that  relates  to  sir  potency  is  flung  to 
moulder  in  a  burial-vault,  and  no  one  bothers  himself 
the  least  bit  about  it  afterward.  But  the  People  ever 
remains,  tendencies  continue,  and  all  the  idiocratic 
transfers  in  unbroken  chain  go  on.  In  a  few  years  the 
dominion-heart  of  America  will  be  far  inland,  toward 
the  West.  Our  future  National  Capitol  may  not  bo 
where  the  present  one  is.  It  is  possible,  nay  likely,  that 
in  less  than  fifty  years,  it  will  migrate  a  thousand  or  two 
miles,  will  be  re-founded,  and  every  thing  belonging  to 
it  made  on  a  different  plan,  original,  far  more  superb. 
The  main  social,  political  spine-character  of  The  States 
will  probably  run  along  the  Ohio,  Missouri  and  Missis 
sippi  Eivers,  and  west  and  north  of  them,  including 
Canada.  Those  regions,  with  the  group  of  powerful 
brothers  toward  the  Pacific,  (destined  to  the  mastership 
of  that  sea  and  its  countless  Paradises  of  islands,)  will 
compact  and  settle  the  traits  of  America,  with  all .  the 
old  retained,  but  more  expanded,  grafted  on  newer, 
hardier,  purely  native  stock.  A  giant  growth,  compo 
site  from  the  rest,  getting  their  contribution,  absorbing 
it,  to  make  it  more  illustrious.  From  the  North,  Intel 
lect,  the  sun  of  things — also  the  idea  of  unswayable 
Justice,  anchor  amid  the  last,  the  wildest  tempests. 
From  the  South,  the  living  Soul,  the  animus  of  good 
and  bad,  haughtily  admitting  no  demonstration  but  its 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  29 

own.  While  from  the  West  itself  comes  solid  Person 
ality,  with  blood  and  brawn,  and  the  deep  quality  of 
all-accepting  fusion. 

Political  Democracy,  as  it  exists  and  practically  works 
in  America,  with  all  its  threatening  evils,  supplies  a 
training-school  for  making  grand  young  men.  It  is 
life's  gymnasium,  not  of  good  only,  but  of  all.  We  try 
often,  though  we  fall  back  often.  A  brave  delight,  fit 
for  freedom's  athletes,  fills  these  arenas,  and  fully  satis 
fies,  out  of  the  action  in  them,  irrespective  of  success. 
Whatever  we  do  not  attain,  we  at  any  rate  attain  the 
experiences  of  the  fight,  the  hardening  of  the  strong 
campaign,  and  throb  with  currents  of  attempt  at  least. 
Time  is  ample.  Let  the  victors  come  after  us.  Not  for 
nothing  does  evil  play  its  part  among  men.  Judging 
from  the  main  portions  of  the  history  of  the  world,  so 
far,  justice  is  always  in  jeopardy,  peace  walks  amid 
hourly  pitfalls,  and  of  slavery,  misery,  meanness,  the 
craft  of  tyrants  and  the  credulity  of  the  populace,  in 
some  of  their  protean  forms,  no  voice  can  at  any  time 
say,  They  are  not.  The  clouds  break  a  little,  and  the 
sun  shines  out — but  soon  and  certain  the  lowering  dark 
ness  falls  again,  as  if  to  last  forever.  Yet  is  there  an 
immortal  courage  and  prophecy  in  every  sane  soul  that 
cannot,  must  not,  under  any  circumstances,  capitulate. 
Vive,  the  attack — the  perennial  assault !  Vive,  the  un 
popular  cause — the  spirit  that  audaciously  aims — the 
never-abandoned  efforts,  pursued  the  same  amid  oppo 
sing  proofs  and  precedents. 

— Once,  before  the  war,  (Alas!  I  dare  not  say  how 
many  times  the  mood  has  come!)  I,  too,  was  filled  with 
doubt  and  gloom.  A  foreigner,  an  acute  and  good  man, 
had  impressively  said  to  me,  that  day — putting  in  form, 
indeed,  my  own  observations  :  I  have  traveled  much  in 
the  United  States,  and  watched  their  politicians,  and 
listened  to  the  speeches  of  the  candidates,  and  read  the 
journals,  and  gone  into  the  public  houses,  and  heard 
the  unguarded  talk  of  men.  And  I  have  found  your 
vaunted  America  honey-combed  from  top  to  toe  with 
infidelism,  even  to  itself  and  its  own  programme.  I 


30  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

have  marked  the  brazen  hell-faces  of  secession  and 
slavery  gazing  defiantly  from  all  the  windows  and  door 
ways.  I  have  everywhere  found,  primarily,  thieves  and 
scalliwags  arranging  the  nominations  to  offices,  and 
sometimes  filling  the  offices  themselves.  I  have  found 
the  North  just  as  full  of  bad  stuff  as  the  South.  Of  the 
holders  of  public  office  in  the  Nation,  or  in  the  States, 
or  their  municipalities,  I  have  found  that  not  one  in  a 
hundred  has  been  chosen  by  any  spontaneous  selection 
of  the  outsiders,  the  people,  but  all  have  been  nomi 
nated  and  put  through  by  little  or  large  caucuses  of  the 
politicians,  and  have  got  in  by  corrupt  rings  and  elec 
tioneering,  not  capacity  or  desert.  I  have  noticed  how 
the  millions  of  sturdy  farmers  and  mechanics  are  thus 
the  helpless  supple-jacks  of  comparatively  few  politi 
cians.  And  I  have  noticed  more  and  more,  the  alarm 
ing  spectacle  of  parlies  usurping  the  Government,  and 
openly  and  shamelessly  wielding  it  for  party  purposes. 

Sad,  serious,  deep  truths.  Yet  are  there  other,  still 
deeper,  amply  confronting,  dominating  truths.  Over 
those  politicians  and  great  and  little  rings,  and  over  all 
their  insolence  and  wiles,  and  over  the  powerfulest  par 
ties,  looms  a  Power,  too  sluggish  may-be,  but  ever  hold 
ing  decisions  and  decrees  in  hand,  ready,  with  stern 
process,  to  execute  them  as  soon  as  plainly  needed,  and 
at  times,  indeed,  summarily  crushing  to  atoms  the 
mightiest  parties,  even  in  the  hour  of  their  pride. 

In  saner  hours  far  different  are  the  amounts  of  these 
things  from  what,  at  first  sight,  they  appear.  Though 
it  is  no  doubt  important  who  is  elected  President  or 
Governor,  Mayor  or  Legislator,  (and  full  of  dismay 
when  incompetent  or  vile  ones  get  elected,  as  they 
sometimes  do,)  there  are  other,  quieter  contingencies, 
infinitely  more  important.  Shams,  &c.,  will  always  be 
the  show,  like  ocean's  scum ;  enough,  if  waters  deep 
and  clear  make  up  the  rest.  Enough,  that  while  the 
piled  embroidered  shoddy  gaud  and  fraud  spreads  to 
the  superficial  eye,  the  hidden  warp  and  weft  are  gen 
uine,  and  will  wear  forever.  Enough,  in  short,  that  the 
race,  the  land  which  could  raise  such  as  the  late  Rebel 
lion,  could  also  put  it  down. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  31 

The  average  man  of  a  land  at  last  only  is  important. 
He,  in  These  States,  remains  immortal  owner  and  boss, 
deriving  good  uses,  somehow,  out  of  any  sort  of  servant 
in  office,  even  the  basest ;  because,  (certain  universal 
requisites,  and  their  settled  regularity  and  protection, 
being  first  secured,)  a  Nation  like  ours,  in  a  sort  of  geo 
logical  formation  state,  trying  continually  new  experi 
ments,  choosing  new  delegations,  is  not  served  by  the 
best  men  only,  but  sometimes  more  by  those  that  pro 
voke  it — by  the  combats  they  arouse.  Thus  national 
rage,  fury,  discussion,  &c.,  better  than  content.  Thus, 
also,  the  warning  signals,  invaluable  for  after  times. 

What  is  more  dramatic  than  the  spectacle  we  have 
seen  repeated,  and  doubtless  long  shall  see — the  pop 
ular  judgment  taking  the  successful  candidates  on  trial 
in  the  offices — standing  off,  as  it  were,  and  observing 
them  and  their  doings  for  a  while,  and  always  giving, 
finally,  the  fit,  exactly  due  reward  ? 

I  think,  after  all,  the  sublimest  part  of  political  his 
tory,  and  its  culmination,  is  currently  issuing  from  the 
American  people.  I  know  nothing  grander,  better  ex 
ercise,  better  digestion,  more  positive  proof  of  the  past, 
the  triumphant  result  of  faith  in  humankind,  than  a 
well-contested  American  national  election. 

Then  still  the  thought  returns,  (like  the  thread-pass 
age  in  overtures,)  giving  the  key  and  echo  to  these 
pages.  When  I  pass  to  and  fro,  different  latitudes,  dif 
ferent  seasons,  beholding  the  crowds  of  the  great  cities, 
New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Cincinnati,  Chicago, 
St.  Louis,  San  Francisco,  New  Orleans,.  Baltimore — 
when  I  mix  with  these  interminable  swarms  of  alert, 
turbulent,  good-natured,  independent  citizens,  mechan 
ics,  clerks,  young  persons — at  the  idea  of  this  mass  of 
men,  so  fresh  and  free,  so  loving  and  so  proud,  a  singu 
lar  awe  falls  upon  me.  I  feel,  with  dejection  and  amaze 
ment,  that  among  our  geniuses  and  talented  writers  or 
speakers,  few  or  none  have  yet  really  spoken  to  this 
people,  or  created  a  single  image-making  work  that 
could  be  called  for  them — or  absorbed  the  central  spirit 
and  the  idiosyncrasies  which  are  theirs,  and  which,  thus, 


32  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

in  highest  ranges,  so  far  remain  entirely  uncelebrated, 
unexpressed. 

Dominion  strong  is  the  body's  ;  dominion  stronger  is 
the  mind's.  What  has  filled,  and  fills  to-day  our  intel 
lect,  our  fancy,  furnishing  the  standards  therein,  is  yet 
foreign.  The  great  poems,  Shakespeare  included,  are 
poisonous  to  the  idea  of  the  pride  and  dignity  of  the 
common  people,  the  life-blood  of  Democracy.  The 
models  of  our  literature,  as  we  get  it  from  other  lands, 
ultramarine,  have  had  their  birth  in  courts,  and  basked 
and  grown  in  castle  sunshine  ;  all  smells  of  princes' 
favors.  Of  workers  of  a  certain  sort,  we  have,  indeed, 
plenty"  contributing  after  their  kind ;  many  elegant, 
many  learned,  all  complacent.  But,  touched  by  the 
National  test,  or  tried  by  the  standards  of  Democratic 
personality,  they  wither  to  ashes.  I  say  I  have  not 
seen  a  single  writer,  artist,  lecturer,  or  what  not,  that 
has  confronted  the  voiceless  but  ever  erect  and  active, 
pervading,  underlying  will  and  typic  Aspiration  of  the 
land,  in  a  spirit  kindred  to  itself.  Do  you  call  those 
genteel  little  creatures  American  poets  ?  Do  you  term 
that  perpetual,  pistareen,  paste-pot  work,  American  art, 
American  drama,  taste,  verse  ?  I  think  I  hear,  echoed 
as  from  some  mountain-top  afar  in  the  West,  the  scorn 
ful  laugh  of  the  Genius  of  These  States. 

— Democracy,  in  silence,  biding  its  time,  ponders  its 
own  ideals,  not  of  Literature  and  Art  only — not  of  men 
only,  but  of  women.  The  idea  of  the  women  of  America, 
(extricated  from  this  daze,  this  fossil  and  unhealthy  air 
which  hangs  about  the  word  Lady,)  developed,  raised 
to  become  the  robust  equals,  workers,  and.  it  may  be, 
even  practical  and  political  deciders  with  the  men — 
greater  than  man,  we  may  admit,  through  their  divine 
maternity,  always  their  towering,  emblematical  attri 
bute—but  great,  at  any  rate,  as  man,  in  all  depart 
ments ;  or,  rather,  capable  of  being  so,  soon  as  they 
realize  it,  and  can  bring  themselves  to  give  up  toys  and 
fictions,  and  launch  forth,  as  men  do,  amid  real,  inde 
pendent,  stormy  life. 

— Then,  as  toward  our  thought's  finale,  (and,  in  that, 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  33 

overarching  the  true  scholar's  lesson,)  wa  Lave  to  say- 
there  can  be  no  complete  or  epical  presentation  of  ."De 
mocracy  in  the  aggregate,  or  any  thing  like  it,  at  this 
clay,  because  its  doctrines  will  only  be  effectually  incar 
nated  in  any  one  branch,  when,  in  all,  their  spirit  is  at 
the  root  and  centre.  Far,  far,  indeed,  stretch,  in  dis 
tance,  our  vistas !  How  much  is  still  to  be  disentangled, 
freed !  How  long  it  takes  to  make  this  world  see  that 
it  is,  in  itself,  the  final  authority  and  reliance ! 

Did  you,  too,  O  friend,  suppose  Democracy  was  only 
for  elections,  for  politics,  and  for  a  party  name  ?  I  say 
Democracy  is  only  of  use  there  that  it  may  pass  on  and 
come  to  its  flower  and  fruits  in  manners,  in  the  highest 
farms  of  interaction  between  men,  and  their  beliefs — in 
Religion,  Literature,  colleges,  and  schools — Democracy 
in  all  public  and  private  life,  and  in  the  Army  and  Navy.* 
I  have  intimated  that,  as  a  paramount  scheme,  it  has  yet 
few  or  no  full  realizers  and  believers.  I  do  not  see, 
either,  that  it  owes  any  serious  thanks  to  noted  propa 
gandists  or  champions,  or  has  been  essentially  helped, 
though  often  harmed,  by  them.  It  has  besn  and  is  car 
ried  on  by  all  the  moral  forces,  and  by  trade,  finance, 
machinery,  intercommunications,  and,  in  fact,  by  all  the 
developments  of  history,  and  can  no  more  be  stopped 
than  the  tides,  or  the  earth  in  its  orbit.  Doubtless, 
also,  it  resides,  crude  and  latent,  well  down  in  the 
hearts  of  the  fair  average  of  the  American-born  people, 
mainly  in  the  agricultural  regions.  But  it  is  not  yet, 
there  or  anywhere,  the  fully-received,  the  fervid,  the  ab 
solute  faith. 

I  submit,  therefore,  that  the  fruition  of  Democracy, 
on  aught  like  a  grand  scale,  resides  altogether  in  the 
future.  As,  under  any  profound  and  comprehensive 
view  of  the  gorgeous-composite  Feudal  world,  we  see 

The  whole  present  system  of  the  officering  and  personnel  of 
the^Army  and  Navy  of  These  States,  and  the  spirit  and  letter  of 
their  trebly-aristocratic  rules  and  regulations,  is  a  monstrous  ex 
otic,  a  nuisance  and  revolt,  and  belong  here  just  as  much  as  orders 
of  nobility,  or  the  Pope.'s  council  of  Cardinals.  I  say  if  the  pres 
ent  theory  of  our  Army  and  Navy  is  sensible  and  true,  then  the 
rest  of  America  is  an  unmitigated'  fraud. 


34  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

in  it,  through  the  long  ages  and  cycles  of  ages,  the  re 
sults  of  a  deep,  integral,  human  and  divine  principle,  or 
fountain,  from  which  issued  laws,  ecclesia,  manners,  in 
stitutes,  costumes,  personalities,  poems,  (hitherto  une- 
qualed,)  faithfully  partaking  of  their  source,  and  in 
deed  only  arising  either  to  betoken  it,  or  to  furnish 
parts  of  that  varied-flowing  display,  whose  centre  was 
one  and  absolute — so,  long  ages  hence,  shall  the  due 
historian  or  critic  make  at  least  an  equal  retrospect,  an 
equal  History  for  the  Democratic  principle.  It,  too, 
must  be  adorned,  credited  with  its  results— then,  when 
it,  with  imperial  power,  through  amplest  time,  has  domi 
nated  mankind — has  been  the  source  and  test  of  all  the 
moral,  esthetic,  social,  political,  and  religious  expres 
sions  and  institutes  of  the  civilized  world — has  begotten 
them  in  spirit  and  in  form,  and  carried  them  to  its  own 
unprecedented  heights — has  had,  (it  is  possible,)  monas 
tics  and  ascetics,  more  numerous,  more  devout  than  the 
monks  and  priests  of  all  previous  creeds — has  swayed 
the  ages  with  a  breadth  and  rectitude  tallying  Nature's 
own — has  fashioned,  systematized,  and  triumphantly  fin 
ished  and  carried  out,  in  its  own  interest,  and  with  un 
paralleled  success,  a  New  Earth  and  a  New  Man. 

— Thus  we  presume  to  write,  as  it  were,  upon  things 
that  exist  not,  and  travel  by  maps  yet  unmade,  and  a 
blank.  But  the  throes  of  birth  are  upon  us ;  and  we 
have  something  of  this  advantage  in  seasons  of  strong 
formations,  doubts,  suspense— for  then  the  afflatus  of 
such  themes  haply  may  fall  upon  us,  more  or  less  ;  and 
then,  hot  from,  surrounding  war  and  revolution,  our 
speech,  though  without  polished  coherence,  and  a  fail 
ure  by  the  standard  called  criticism,  comes  forth,  real 
at  least,  as  the  lightnings. 

And  may-be  we,  these  days,  have,  too,  our  own  re 
ward — (for  there  are  yet  some,  in  all  lands,  worthy  to 
be  so  encouraged.)  Though  not  for  us  the  joy  of  en 
tering  at  the  last  the  conquered  city — nor  ours  the 
chance  ever  to  see  with  our  own  eyes  the  peerless 
power  and  splendid  eclat  of  the  Democratic  principle, 
arrived  at  meridian,  filling  the  world  with  effulgence 
and  majesty  far  beyond  those  of  past  history's  kings, 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  35 

or  all  dynastic  sway — there  is  yet,  to  whoever  is  eligible 
among  us,  the  prophetic  vision,  the  joy  of  being  tossed 
in  the  brave  turmoil  of  these  times — the  promulgation 
and  the  path,  obedient,  lowly  reverent  to  the  voice,  the 
gesture  of  the  god,  or  holy  ghost,  which  others  see  not, 
hear  not — with  the  proud  consciousness  that  amid  what 
ever  clouds,  seductions,  or  heart-wearying  postpone 
ments,  we  have  never  deserted,  never  despaired,  never 
abandoned  the  Faith. 


So  much  contributed,  to  be  conned  well,  to  help  pre 
pare  and  brace  our  edifice,  our  plann'd  Idea- — we  still 
proceed  to  give  it  in  another  of  its  aspects — perhaps 
the  main,  the  high  fac/ade  of  all.  For  to  Democracy, 
the  leveler,  the  unyielding  principle  of  the  average,  is 
surely  joined  another  principle,  equally  unyielding, 
closely  tracking  the  first,  indispensable  to  it,  opposite, 
(as  the  sexes  are  opposite,)  and  whose  existence,  con 
fronting  arid  ever  modifying  the  other,  often  clashing, 
paradoxical,  yet  neither  of  highest  avail  without  the 
other,  plainly  supplies  to  these  grand  cosmic  politics  of 
ours,  and  to  the  launched  forth  mortal  dangers  of  Ee- 
publicanism,  to-day  or  any  day,  the  counterpart  and 
offset,  whereby  Nature  restrains  the  deadly  original  re- 
lentlessness  of  all  her  first-class  laws.  This  second 
principle  is  Individuality,  the  pride  and  centripetal  iso 
lation  of  a  human  being  in  himself, — Identity — Person- 
alism.  Whatever  the  name,  its  acceptance  and  thorough 
infusion  through  the  organizations  of  political  common 
alty  now  shooting  Aurora-like  about  the  world,  are  of 
utmost  importance,  as  the  principle  itself  is  needed  for 
very  life's  sake.  It  forms,  in  a  sort,  or  is  to  form,  the 
compensating  balance-wheel  of  the  successful  working 
machinery  of  aggregate  America. 

— And^if  we  think  of  it,  what  does  civilization  itself 
rest  upon — and  what  object  has  it,  with  its  religions, 
arts,  schools,  &c.,  but  rich,  luxuriant,  varied  Personal- 
ism  ?  To  that,  all  bends  ;  and  it  is  because  toward  such 
result  Democracy  alone,  on  anything  like  Nature's  scale, 
breaks  up  the  limitless  fallows  of  humankind,  and  plants 


36  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

the  seed,  and  gives  fair  play,  that  its  claims  now  precede 
the  rest. 

The  Literature,  Songs,  Esthetics,  &c.,  of  a  country 
are  of  importance  principally  because  they  furnish  the 
materials  and  suggestions  of  Personality  for  the  women 
and  men  of  that  country,  and  enforce  them  in  a  thou 
sand  effective  ways.* 

As  the  topmost  claim  of  a  strong  consolidating  of  the 
Nationality  of  These  States,  is,  that  only  by  such  pow 
erful  compaction  can  the  separate  States  secure  that  full 
and  free  swing  within  their  spheres,  which  is  becoming 
to  them,  each  after  its  kind,  so  will  Individuality,  with 
unimpeded  branchings,  nourish  best  under  imperial  Re 
publican  forms. 

— Assuming  Democracy  to  be  at  present  in  its  embryo 


*  After  the  rest  is  satiated,  all  interest  culminates  in  the  field  of 
Persons,  and  never  flags  there.  Accordingly  in  this  field  have 
the  great  Poets  and  Literatuses  signally  toiled.  They  too,  in  all 
ages,  all  lands,  have  been  creators,  fashioning,  making  types  of 
men  and  women,  as  Adam  and  Eve  are  made  in  the  divine  fable. 
Behold,  shaped,  bred  by  Orientalism,  Feudalism,  through  their 
long  growth  and  culmination,  and  breeding  back  in  return, 
(When  shall  we  have  an  equal  series,  typical  of  Democracy  ?) — 
Behold,  commencing  in  primal  Asia,  (apparently  formulated,  in 
what  beginning  we  know,  in  the  gods  of  the  mythologies,  and 
coming  down  thence,)  a  few  samples  out  of  the  countless  product, 
bequeathed  to  the  moderns,  bequeathed  to  America  as  studies. 
For  the  men,  Yudishtura,  Rama,  Arjuna,  Solomon,  most  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament  characters  ;  Achilles,  Ulysses,  Theseus, 
Prometheus,  Hercules,  2Eneas,  St.  John,  Plutarch's  heroes;  the 
Merlin  of  Celtic  bards,  the  Cid,  Arthur  and  his  knights,  Siegfried 
and  Hagen  in  the  Niebelungen ;  Roland  and  Oliver  ;  Roustam  in 
the  Shah-Nehmah ;  and  so  on  to  Milton's  Satan,  Cervantes'  Don 
Quixote,  Shakespeare's  Hamlet,  Richard  II.,  Lear,  Marc  Antony, 
&c.,  and  the  modern  Faust.  These,  I  say,  are  models,  combined, 
adjusted  to  other  standards  than  America's,  but  of  priceless  value 
to  her  and  hers. 

Among  women,  the  goddesses  of  the  Egyptian,  Indian  and 
Greek  mythologies,  certain  Bible  charactersrcspecially  the  Holy 
Mother ;  Cleopatra,  Penelope ;  the  portraits  of  Brunhelde  and 
Chriemhilde  in  the  Niebelungen ;  Oriana,  Una,  &c.  ;  the  modern 
Consuelo,  Walter  Scott's  Jeanie  and  Effie  Deans,  &c.,  &c.  (Woman, 
portrayed  or  outlined  at  her  best,  or  as  perfect  human  Mother, 
does  not  yet,  it  saems  to  me,  fully  appear  in  Literature.) 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  37 

condition,  and  that  the  only  large  and  satisfactory  justi 
fication  of  it  resides  in  the  future,  mainly  through  the 
copious  production  of  perfect  characters  among  the 
people,  and  through  the  advent  of  a  sane  and  pervading 
Eeligiousness,  it  is  with  regard  to  the  atmosphere  and 
spaciousness  fit  for  such  characters,  and  of  certain  nutri 
ment  and  cartoon-draftings  proper  for  them,  and  indi 
cating  them,  for  New  World  purposes,  that  I  continue 
the  present  statement — an  exploration,  as  of  new 
ground,  wherein,  like  other  primitive  surveyors,  I  must 
do  the  best  I  can,  leaving  it  to  those  who  come  after 
me  to  do  much  better.  The  service,  in  fact,  if  any,  must 
be  to  merely  break  a  sort  of  first  path  or  track,  no 
matter  how  rude  and  ungeometrical. 

"We  have  frequently  printed  the  word  Democracy. 
Yet  I  cannot  too  often  repeat  that  it  is  a  word  the  real 
gist  of  which  still  sleeps,  quite  unawakened,  notwith 
standing  the  resonance  and  the  many  angry  tempests, 
out  of  which  its  syllables  have  come,  from  pen  or  tongue. 
It  is  a  great  word,  whose  history,  I  suppose,  remains 
unwritten,  because  that  history  has  yet  to  be  enacted. 
It  is,  in  some  sort,  younger  brother  of  another  great 
and  often-used  word,  Nature,  whose  history  also  waits 
unwritten. 

As  I  perceive,  the  tendencies  of  our  day,  in  The  States, 
(and  I  entirely  respect  them,)  are  toward  those  vast  and 
sweeping  movements,  influences,  moral  and  physical,  of 
humanity,  now  and  always  current  over  the  planet,  on 
the  scale  of  the  impulses  of  the  elements.  Then  it  is 
also  good  to  reduce  the  whole  matter  to  the  considera 
tion  of  a  single  self,  a  man,  a  woman,  on  permanent 
grounds.  Even  for  the  treatment  of  the  universal,  in 
politics,  metaphysics,  or  anything,  sooner  or  later  WG 
come  down  to  one  single,  solitary  Soul. 

There  is,  in  sanest  hours,  a  consciousness,  a  thought- 
that  rises,  independent,  lifted  out  from  all  else,  calm, 
like  the  stars,  shining  eternal.  This  is  the  thought  of 
Identity — yours  for  you,  whoever  you  are,  as  mine  for 
me.  Miracle  of  miracles,  beyond  statement,  most  spir 
itual  and  vaguest  of  earth's  dreams,  yet  hardest  basic 
fact,  and  only  entrance  to  all  facts.  In  such  devout 


38  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

hours,  in  the  midst  of  the  significant  wonders  of  heaven 
and  earth,  (significant  only  because  of  the  Me  in  the 
centre,)  creeds,  conventions,  fall  away  and  become  of  no 
account  before  this  simple  idea.  Under  the  luminous- 
ness  of  real  vision,  it  alone  takes  possession,  takes  value. 
Like  the  shadowy  dwarf  in  the  fable,  once  liberated  and 
looked  upon,  it  expands  over  the  whole  earth,  and 
spreads  to  the  roof  of  heaven. 

The  quality  of  BEING,  in  the  object's  self,  according 
to  its  own  central  idea  and  purpose,  and  of  growing 
therefrom  and  thereto — not  criticism  by  other  stand 
ards,  and  adjustments  thereto — is  the  lesson  of  Nature. 
True,  the  full  man  wisely  gathers,  culls,  absorbs ;  but 
if,  engaged  disproportionately  in  that,  he  slights  or 
overlays  the  precious  idiocrasy  and  special  nativity  and 
intention  that  he  is,  the  man's  self,  the  main  thing,  is  a 
failure,  however  wide  his  general  cultivation.  Thus,  in 
our  times,  refinement  and  delicatesse  are  not  only  at 
tended  to  sufficiently,  but  threaten  to  eat  us  up,  like  a 
cancer.  Already,  the  Democratic  genius  watches,  ill- 
pleased,  these  tendencies.  Provision  for  a  little  healthy 
rudeness,  savage  virtue,  justification  of  what  one  has  in 
one's  self,  whatever  it  is,  is  demanded.  Negative  quali 
ties,  even  deficiencies,  would  be  a  relief.  Singleness 
and  normal  simplicity,  and  separation,  amid  this  more 
and  more  complex,  more  and  more  artificialized,  state 
of  society — how  pensively  we  yearn  for  them !  how  we 
would  welcome  their  return ! 

In  some  such  direction,  then — at  any  rate  enough  to 
preserve  the  balance — we  feel  called'  upon  to  throw 
what  weight  we  can,  not  for  absolute  reasons,  but  cur 
rent  ones.  To  prune,  gather,  trim,  conform,  and  ever 
cram  and  stuff,  is  the  pressure  of  our  days.  While 
aware  that  much  can  be  said  even  in  behalf  of  "all  this, 
we  perceive  that  we  have  not  now  to  consider  the  ques 
tion  of  what  is  demanded  to  serve  a  half-starved  and 
barbarous  nation,  or  set  of  nations,  but  what  is  most 
applicable,  most  pertinent,  for  numerous  congeries  of 
conventional,  over-corpulent  societies  already  becoming 
stifled  and  rotten  with  flatulent,  infidelislic  literature, 
and  polite  conformity  and  art. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  39 

In  addition  to  established  sciences,  we  suggest  a 
science  as  it  were  of  healthy  average  Personalism,  on 
original-universal  grounds,  the  object  of  which  should 
be  to  raise  up  and  supply  through  The  States  a  copious 
race  of  superb  American  men  and  women,  cheerful,  re 
ligious,  ahead  of  any  yet  known. 

America,  leaving  out  her  politics,  has  yet  morally 
originated  nothing.  She  seems  singularly  unaware  that 
the  models  of" persons,  books,  manners,  &c.,  appropriate 
for  former  conditions  and  for  European  hinds,  are  but 
exiles  and  exotics  here.  No  current  of  her  life,  as  shown 
on  the  surfaces  of  what  is  authoritatively  called  her  So 
ciety,  accepts  or  runs  into  moral,  social,  or  esthetic  De 
mocracy  ;  but  all  the  currents  set  squarely  against  it. 
Never,  in  the  Old  World,  was  thoroughly  upholstered 
Exterior  Appearance  anc[  show,  mental  and  other,  built 
entirely  on  the  idea  of  caste,  and  on  the  sufficiency  of 
mere  outside  Acquisition — never  were  Glibness,  verbal 
Intellect,  more  the  test,  the  emulation — more  loftily 
elevated  as  head  and  sample — than  they  are  on  the 
surface  of  our  Republican  States  this  day.  The  writers 
of  a  time  hint  the  mottoes  of  its  gods.  The  word  of 
the  modern,  say  these  voices,  is  the  word  Culture. 

We  find  ourselves  abruptly  in  close  quarters  with  the 
enemy.  This  word  Culture,  or  what  it  has  come  to  rep 
resent,  involves,  by  contrast,  our  whole  theme,  and  has 
been,  indeed,  the  spur,  urging  us  to  engagement.  Cer 
tain  questions  arise. 

As  now  taught,  accepted  and  carried  out,  are  not  the 
processes  of  Culture  rapidly  creating  a  class  of  super 
cilious  infidels,  who  believe  in  nothing?  Shall  a  man 
lose  himself  in  countless  masses  of  adjustments,  and  be 
so  shaped  with  reference  to  this,  that,  and  the  other, 
that  the  simply  good  and  healthy  and  brave  parts  of 
him  are  reduced  and  clipped  away,  like  the  bordering 
of  box  in  a  garden  ?  You  can  cultivate  corn  and  roses 
and  orchards — but  who  shall  cultivate  the  primseval 
forests,  the  mountain  peaks,  the  ocean,  and  the  tum 
bling  gorgcousness  of  the  clouds?  Lastly— Is  the 
readily-given  reply  that  Culture  only  seeks  to  help, 


40  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

systematize,  and  put  in  attitude,  the  elements  of  fer 
tility  and  power,  a  conclusive  reply  ? 

I  do  not  so  much  object  to  the  name,  or  word,  but  I 
should  certainly  insist,  for  the  purposes  of  These  States, 
on  a  radical  change  of  category,  in  the  distribution  of 
precedence.  I  should  demand  a  programme  of  Cul 
ture,  drawn  out,  not  for  a  single  class  alone,  or  for  the 
parlors  or  lecture-rooms,  but  with  an  eye  to  practical 
life,  the  West,  the  working-men,  the  facts  of  farms  and 
jackplanes  and  engineers,  and  of  the  broad  range  of  the 
women  also  of  the  middle  and  working  strata,  and  with 
reference  to  the  perfect  equality  of  women,  and  of  a 
grand  and  powerful  motherhood.  I  should  demand  of 
this  programme  or  theory  a  scope  generous  enough  to 
include  the  widest  human  area.  It  must  have  for  its 
spinal  meaning  the  formation  of  a  typical  Personality 
of  character,  eligible  to  the  uses  of  the  high  average  of 
men — and  not  restricted  by  conditions  ineligible  to  the 
masses. 

The  best  culture  will  always  be  that  of  the  manly  and 
courageous  instincts,  and  loving  perceptions,  and  of 
self-respect — aiming  to  form,  over  this  continent,  an 
Idiocrasy  of  Universalism,  which,  true  child  of  America, 
will  bring  joy  to  its  mother,  returning  to  her  in  her  own 
spirit,  recruiting  myriads  of  men,  able,  natural,  per 
ceptive,  tolerant,  devout,  real  men,  alive  and  full,  be 
lievers  in  her,  America,  and  with  some  definite  instinct 
why  and  for  what  she  has  arisen,  most  vast,  most  formi 
dable  of  historic  births,  and  is,  now  and  here,  with  won 
derful  step,  journeying  through  Time. 

The  problem,  as  it  seems  to  me,  presented  to  the 
New  World,  is,  under  permanent  law  and  order,  and 
after  preserving  cohesion,  (ensemble-Individuality,)  at 
all  hazards,  to  vitalize  man's  free  play  of  special  Per- 
sonalism,  recognizing  in  it  something  that  calls  ever 
more  to  be  considered,  fed,  and  adopted  as  the  substra 
tum  for  the  best  that  belongs  to  us,  (government  indeed 
is  for  it,)  including  the  new  esthetics  of  our  future. 

To  formulate  beyond  this  present  vagueness — to  help 
line  and  put  before  us,  the  species,  or  a  specimen  of  the 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  41 

species,  of  the  Democratic  ethnology  of  the  future,  is  a 
work  toward  which  the  Genius  of  our  land,  with  pecu 
liar  encouragement,  invites  her  well-wishers.  Already, 
certain  limnings,  more  or  less  grotesque,  more  or  less 
fading  and  watery,  have  appeared.  We  too,  (repressing 
doubts  and  qualms,)  will  try  our  hand. 

Attempting  then,  however  crudely,  a  basic  model  or 
portrait  of  Personality,  for  general  use  for  the  manli 
ness  of  The  States,  (and  doubtless  that  is  most  useful 
which  is  most  simple,  comprehensive  for  all,  and  toned 
low  enough,)  we  should  prepare  the  canvas  well  before 
hand.  Parentage  must  consider  itself  in  advance. 
(Will  the  time  hasten  when  fatherhood  and  mother 
hood  shall  become  a  science — and  the  noblest  science  ?) 
To  our  model  a  clear-blooded,  strong-fibred  physique, 
is  indispensable  ;  the  questions  of  food,  drink,  air,  exer 
cise,  assimilation,  digestion,  can  never  be  intermitted. 
Out  of  these  we  descry  a  well-begotten  Selfhood — in 
youth,  fresh,  ardent,  emotional,  aspiring,  full  of  adven 
ture  ;  at  maturity,  brave,  perceptive,  under  control, 
neither  too  talkative  nor  too  reticent,  neither  flippant 
nor  sombre  ;  of  the  bodily  figure,  the  movements  easy, 
the  complexion  showing  the  best  blood,  somewhat 
flushed,  breast  expanded,  an  erect  attitude,  a  voice 
whose  sound  outvies  music,  eyes  of  calm  and  steady 
gaze,  yet  cap'able  also  of  flashing — and  a  general  pres 
ence  that  holds  its  own  in  the  company  of  the  highest. 
For  it  is  native  Personality,  and  that  alone,  that  endows 
a  man  to  stand  before  Presidents  or  Generals,  or  in  any 
distinguished  collection,  with  aplomb ;  and  not  Culture, 
or  any  knowledge  or  intellect  whatever. 

With  regard  to  the  mental-educational  part  of  our 
model,  enlargement  of  intellect,  stores  of  cephalic 
knowledge,  &c.,  the  concentration  thitherward  of  all 
the  customs  of  our  age,  especially  in  America,  is  so 
overweening,  and  provides  so  fully  for  that  part,  that, 
important  and  necessary  as  it  is,  it  really  needs  nothing 
from  us  here — except,  indeed,  a  phrase  of  warning  and 
restraint. 

Manners,  costumes,  too,  though  important,  we  need 
not  dwell  upon  here.  Like  beauty,  grace  of  motion, 


42  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

&c.,  they  are  results.  Causes,  original  things,  being 
attended  to,  the  right  manners  unerringly  follow. 
Much  is  said,  among  artists,  of  the  grand  style,  as  if  it 
were  a  thing  by  itself.  When  a  man,  artist  or  whoever, 
has  health,  pride,  acuteness,  noble  aspirations,  he  has 
the  motive-elements  of  the  grandest  style.  The  rest  is 
but  manipulation,  (yet  that  is  no  small  matter.) 

—Leaving  still  unspecified  several  sterling  parts  of 
any  model  fit  for  the  future  Personality  of  America,  I 
must  not  fail,  again  and  ever,  to  pronounce  myself  on 
one,  probably  the  least  attended  to  in  modern  times — a 
hiatus,  indeed,  threatening  its  gloomiest  consequences 
after  us.  I  mean  the  simple,  unsophisticated  Conscience, 
the  primary  moral  element.  If  I  were  asked  to  specify 
in  what  quarter  lie  the  grounds  of  darkest  dread,  re 
specting  the  America  of  our  hopes,  I  should  have  to 
point  to  this  particular.  I  should  demand  the  invaria 
ble  application  to  individuality,  this  day,  and  any  day, 
of  that  old,  ever-true  plumb-rule  of  persons,  eras,  na 
tions.  Our  triumphant  modern  Civilizee,  with  his  all- 
schooling  and  his  wondrous  appliances,  will  still  show 
himself  but  an  amputation  while  this  deficiency  remains. 

Beyond,  (assuming  a  more  hopeful  tone,)  the  verte- 
bration  of  the  manly  and  womanly  Personalism  of  our 
Western  World,  can  only  be,  and  is,  indeed,  to  be,  (I 
hope,)  its  all  penetrating  Eeligiousness.  The  architec 
ture  of  Individuality  will  ever  prove  various,  with  count 
less  different  combinations  ;  but  here  they  rise  as  into 
common  pinnacles,  some  higher,  some  less  high,  only 
all  pointing  upward. 

Indeed,  the  ripeness  of  Eeligion  is  doubtless  to  be 
looked  for  in  this  field  of  Individuality,  and  is  a  result 
that  no  organization  or  church  can  ever  achieve.  As 
history  is  poorly  retained  by  what  the  technists  call  his 
tory,  and  is  not  given  out  from  their  pages,  except  the 
learner  has  in  himself  the  sense  of  the  well-wrapt,  never 
yet  written,  perhaps  impossible  to  be  written,  history — 
so  Religion,  although  casually  arrested,  and,  after  a 
fashion,  preserved  in  the  churches  and  creeds,  does  not 
depend  at  all  upon  them,  but  is  a  part  of  the  identified 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  43 

Soul,  which,  when  greatest,  knows  not  Bibles  in  the  old 
way,  but  in  new  ways — the  identified  Soul,  which  can 
really  confront  Keligion  when  it  extricates  itself  entirely 
from  the  churches,  and  not  before. 

Personalism  fuses  this,  and  favors  it.  I  should  say, 
indeed,  that  only  in  the  perfect  uncontamination  and 
solitariness  of  Individuality  may  the  spirituality  of  Be- 
ligion  positively  come  forth  at  all.  Only  here,  and  on 
such  terms,  the  meditation,  the  devout  ecstasy,  the 
soaring  flight.  Only  here,  communion  with  the  mys 
teries,  the  eternal  problems,  Whence  ?  whither  ?  Alone, 
and  identity,  and  the  mood — and  the  Soul  emerges,  and 
all  statements,  churches,  sermons,  melt  away  like  va 
pors.  Alone,  and  silent  thought,  and  awe,  and  aspira 
tion — and  then  the  interior  consciousness,  like  a  hith 
erto  unseen  inscription,  in  magic  ink,  beams  out  its 
wondrous  lines  to  the  sense.  Bibles  may  convey,  and 
priests  expound,  but  it  is  exclusively  for  the  noiseless' 
operation  of  one's  isolated  Self,  to  enter  the  pure  ether 
of  veneration,  reach  the  divine  levels,  and  commune 
with  the  unutterable. 

To  practically  enter  into  Politics  is  an  important  part 
of  American  personalism.  To  every  young  man,  North 
and  South,  earnestly  studying  these  things,  I  should 
here,  as  an  offset  to  what  I  have  said  in  former  pages, 
now  also  say,  that  may-be  to  views  of  very  largest 
scope,  after  all,  perhaps  the  political,  (and  perhaps  lit 
erary  and  sociological,)  America  goes  best  about  its 
development  its  own  way — sometimes,  to  temporary 
sight,  appalling  enough.  It  is  the  fashion  among  dil- 
lettants  and  fops  to  decry  the  whole  formulation  and 
personnel  of  the  active  politics  of  America,  as  beyond 
redemption,  and  to  be  carefully  kept  away  from.  See 
you  that  you  do  -not  fall  into  this  error.  America,  it 
may  be,  is  doing  very  well,  upon  the  whole,  notwith 
standing  these  antics  of  the  parties  and  their  leaders, 
these  half-brained  nominees,  and  the  many  ignorant 
ballots,  and  many  elected  failures  and  blatherers.  It  is 
the  dillettants,  and  all'  who  shirk  their  duty,  who  are 
not  doing  well.  As  for  you,  I  advise  you  to  enter  more 


44  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

strongly  yet  into  politics.  I  advise  every  young  man  to 
do  so.  Always  inform  yourself ;  always  do  the  best  you 
can  ;  always  vote.  Disengage  yourself  from  parties. 
They  have  been  useful,  and  to  some  extent  remain  so  ; 
but  the  floating,  uncommitted  electors,  farmers,  clerks, 
mechanics,  the  masters  of  parties — watching  aloof,  in 
clining  victory  this  side  or  that  side — such  are  the  ones 
most  needed,  present  and  future.  For  America,  if  eligi 
ble  at  all  to  downfall  and  ruin,  is  eligible  within  herself, 
not  without ;  for  I  see  clearly  that  the  combined  foreign 
world  could  not  beat  her  down.  But  these  savage, 
wolfish  parties  alarm  me.  Owning  no  law  but  their 
own  will,  more  and  more  combative,  less  and  less  toler 
ant  of  the  idea  of  ensemble  and  of  equal  brotherhood, 
the  perfect  equality  of  the  States,  the  ever-overarching 
American  ideas,  it  behooves  you  to  convey  yourself  im 
plicitly  to  no  party,  nor  submit  blindly  to  their  dic 
tators,  but  steadily  hold  yourself  judge  and  master 
over  all  of  them. 

— So  much,  (hastily  tossed  together,  and  leaving  far 
more  unsaid,)  for  an  ideal,  or  intimations  of  an  ideal, 
toward  American  manhood.  But  the  other  sex,  in  our 
land,  requires  at  least  a  basis  of  suggestion. 

I  have  seen  a  young  American  woman,  one  of  a  large 
family  of  daughters,  who,  some  years  since,  migrated 
from  her  meagre  country  home  to  one  of  the  northern 
cities,  to  gain  her  own  support.  She  soon  became  an 
expert  seamstress,  but  finding  the  employment  too  con 
fining  for  her  health  and  comfort,  she  went  boldly  to 
work,  for  others,  to  house-keep,  cook,  clean,  &c.  After 
trying  several  places,  she  fell  upon  one  where  she  was 
suited.  She  has  told  me  that  she  finds  nothing  de 
grading  in  her  position  ;  it  is  not  inconsistent  with 
personal  dignity,  self-respect,  and  the  respect  of  others. 
She  confers  benefits  and  receives  them.  She  has  good 
health  ;  her  presence  itself  is  healthy  and  bracing ;  her 
character  is  unstained ;  she  has  made  herself  under 
stood,  and  preserves  her  jndependence,  and  has  been 
able  to  help  her  parents  and  educate  and  get  places  for 
her  sisters  ;  and  her  course  of  life  is  not  without  oppor- 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  45 

tunities  for  mental  improvement,  and  of  much  quiet, 
uncosting  happiness  and  love. 

I  have  seen  another  woman  who,  from  taste  and  ne 
cessity  conjoined,  has  gone  into  practical  affairs,  carries 
on  a  mechanical  business,  partly  works  at  it  herself, 
dashes  out  more  and  more  into  real  hardy  life,  is  not 
abashed  by  the  coarseness  of  the  contact,  knows  how 
to  be  firm  and  silent  at  the  same  time,  holds  her  own 
with  unvarying  coolness  and  decorum,  and  will  com 
pare,  any  day,  with  superior  carpenters,  farmers,  and 
even  boatmen  and  drivers.  For  all  that,  she  has  not 
lost  the  charm  of  the  womanly  nature,  but  preserves 
and  bears  it  fully,  though  through  such  rugged  pre 
sentation. 

Then  there  is  the  wife  of  a  mechanic,  mother  of  two 
children,  a  woman  of  merely  passable  English  educa 
tion,  but  of  fine  wit,  with  all  her  sex's  grace  and  intui 
tions,  who  exhibits,  indeed,  such  a  noble  female  Person 
ality,  that  I  am  fain  to  record  it  here.  Never  abnegating 
her  own  proper  independence,  but  always  genially  pre 
serving  it,  and  what  belongs  to  it — cooking,  washing, 
child-nursing,  house-tending,  she  beams  sunshine  out 
of  all  these  duties,  and  makes  them  illustrious.  Physi 
ologically  sweet  and  sound,  loving  \vork.  practical,  she 
yet  knows  that  there  are  intervals,  however  few,  devoted 
to  recreation,  music,  leisure,  hospitality — and  affords 
such  intervals.  Whatever  she  does,  and  wherever  she 
is,  that  charm,  that  indescribable  perfume  of  genuine 
womanhood,  attends  her,  goes  with  her,  exhales  from 
her,  which  belongs  of  right  to  all  the  sex,  and  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  the  invariable  atmosphere  and  common 
aureola  of  old  as  well  as  young. 

My  mother  has  described  to  me  a  resplendent  person, 
down  on  Long  Island,  whom  she  knew  years  ago,  in 
early  days.  She  was  known  by  the  name  of  the  Peace 
maker.  She  was  well  toward  eighty  years  old,  of  happy 
and  sunny  temperament,  had  always  lived  on  a  farm, 
was  very  neighborly,  sensible  and  discreet,  an  invari 
able  and  welcomed  favorite,  especially  with  young  mar 
ried  women.  She  had  numerous  children  and  grand 
children.  She  was  uneducated,  but  possessed  a  native 


46  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

dignity.  She  had  come  to  be  a  tacitly  agreed  upon 
domestic  regulator,  judge,  settler  of  difficulties,  shep 
herdess,  and  reconciler  in  the  land.  She  was  a  sight  to 
draw  near  and  look  upon,  with  her  large  figure,  her 
profuse  snow-white  hair,  dark  eyes,  clear  complexion, 
sweet  breath,  and  peculiar  personal  magnetism. 

The  foregoing  portraits,  I  admit,  are  frightfully  out 
of  line  from  these  imported  models  of  womanly  Per 
sonality — the  stock  feminine  characters  of  the  current 
novelists,  or  of  the  foreign  court  poems,  (Ophelias, 
Enids,  Princesses,  or  Ladies  of  one  thing  or  another,) 
which  fill  the  envying  dreams  of  so  many  poor  girls, 
and  are  accepted  by  our  young  men,  too,  as  supreme 
ideals  of  feminine  excellence  to  be  sought  after.  But  I 
present  mine  just  for  a  change. 

Then  there  are  mutterings,  (wre  will  not  now  stop  to 
heed  them  here,  but  they  must  be  heeded,)  of  some 
thing  more  revolutionary. '  The  day  is  coming  when  the 
deep  questions  of  woman's  entrance  amid  the  arenas  of 
practical  life,  politics,  trades,  &c.,  will  not  only  be  ar 
gued  all  around  us,  but  may  be  put  to  decision,  and 
real  experiment. 

— Of  course,  in  These  States,  for  both  man  and 
woman,  we  must  entirely  recast  the  types  of  highest 
Personality  from  what  the  Oriental,  Feudal,  Ecclesias 
tical  worlds  bequeath  us,  and  which  yet  fully  possess 
the  imaginative  and  esthetic  fields  of  the  United  States, 
pictorial  and  melodramatic,  not  without  use  as  studies, 
tut  making  sad  work,  and  forming  a  strange  anachron 
ism  upon  the  scenes  and  exigencies  around  us. 

Of  course,  the  old,  undying  elements  remain.  The 
task  is,  to  successfully  adjust  them  to  new  combina 
tions,  pur  own  days.  Nor  is  this  so  incredible.  I  can 
conceive  a  community,  to-day  and  here,  in  which,  on  a 
sufficient  scale,  the  perfect  Personalities,  without  noise, 
meet ;  say  in  some  pleasant  Western  settlement  or  town, 
where  a  couple  of  hundred  best  men  and  women,  of 
ordinary  worldly  status,  have  by  luck  been  drawn  to 
gether,  with  nothing  extra  of  genius  or  wealth,  but  vir 
tuous,  chaste,  industrious,  cheerful,  resolute,  friendly, 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  47 

and  devout.  I  can  conceive  such  a  community  organ 
ized  in  running  order,  powers  judiciously  delegated, 
farming,  building,  trade,  courts,  mails,  schools,  elec 
tions,  all  attended  to ;  and  then  the  rest  of  life,  the 
main  thing,  freely  branching  and  blossoming  in  each 
individual,  and  bearing  golden  fruit.  I  can  see  there, 
in  every  young  and  old  man,  after  his  kind,  and  in  every 
woman  after  hers,  a  true  Personality,  developed,  exer 
cised  proportionately  in  body,  mind,  and  spirit.  I  can 
imagine  this  case  as  one  not  necessarily  rare  or  difficult, 
but  in  buoyant  accordance  with  the  municipal  and  gen 
eral  requirements  of  our  times.  And  I  can  realize  in 
it  the  culmination  of  something  better  than  any  stereo 
typed  eclat  of  history  or  poems.  Perhaps,  unsung,  un- 
dramatized,  unput  in  essays  or  biographies — perhaps 
even  some  such  community  already  exists,  in  Ohio,  Illi 
nois,  Missouri,  or  somewhere,  practically  fulfilling  itself, 
and  thus  outvying,  in  cheapest  vulgar  life,  all  that  has 
been  hitherto  shown  in  best  ideal  pictures. 

In  >  short,  and  to  sum  up,  America,  betaking  herself 
to  formative  action,  (as  it  is  about  time  for  more  solid 
achievement  and  less  windy  promise,)  must,  for  her 
purposes,  cease  to  recognize  a  theory  of  character 
grown  of  Feudal  .aristocracies,  or  formed  by  merely 
esthetic  or  literary  standards,  or  from  any  ultramarine, 
full-dress  formulas  of  culture,  polish,  caste,  &c.,  and 
must  sternly  promulgate  her  own  new  standard,  yet 
old  enough,  and  accepting  the  old,  the  perennial,  ele 
ments,  and  combining  them  into  groups,  unities,  appro 
priate  to  the  modern,  the  democratic,  the  West,  and  to 
the  practical  occasions  and  needs  of  our  own  cities,  and 
of  the  agricultural  regions.  Ever  the  most  precious  in 
the  common.  Ever  the  fresh  breeze  of  field,  or  hill,  or 
lake,  is  more  than  any  palpitation  of  fans,  though  of 
ivory,  and  redolent  with  perfume  ;  and  the  air  is  more 
than  the  costliest  perfumes. 

And  now,  for  fear  of  mistake,  we  may  not  intermit  to 
beg  our  absolution  from  all  that  genuinely  is,  or  goes 
along  with,  even  Culture.  Pardon  us,  venerable  shade ! 
if  we  have  seemed  to  speak  lightly  of  your  office.  The 
whole  civilization  of  the  earth,  we  know,  is  yours,  with 


48  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

all  the  glory  and  the  light  thereof.  It  is,  indeed,  in 
your  own  spirit,  and  seeking  to  tally  the  loftiest  teach 
ings  of  it,  that  we  aim  these  poor  utterances.  For  you, 
too,  mighty  minister!  know  that  there  is  something 
greater  than  you,  namely,  the  fresh,  eternal  qualities  of 
Being.  From  them,  and  by  them,  as  you,  at  your  best, 
we,  too,  after  our  fashion,  when  art  and  conventions 
fail,  evoke  the  last,  the  needed  help,  to  vitalize  our 
country  and  our  days. 

Thus  we  pronounce  not  so  much  against  the  principle 
of  Culture ;  we  only  supervise  it,  and  promulge  along 
with  it,  as  deep,  perhaps  a  deeper,  principle.  As  we 
have  shown,  the  New  World,  including  in  itself  the  all- 
leveling  aggregate  of  Democracy,  we  show  it  also  in 
cluding  the  all-varied,  all-permitting,  all-free  theorem 
of  Individuality,  and  erecting  therefor  a  lofty  and  hith 
erto  unoccupied  framework  or  platform,  broad  enough 
for  all,  eligible  to  every  farmer  and  mechanic — to  the 
female  equally  with  the  male — a  towering  Selfhood,  not 
physically  perfect  only — not  satisfied  with  the  mere 
mind's  and  learning's  stores,  but  Religious,  possessing 
the  idea  of  the  Infinite,  (rudder  and  compass  sure  amid 
this  troublous  voyage,  o'er  darkest,  wildest  wave, 
through  stormiest  wind,  of  man's  or  nation's  progress,) 
— realizing,  above  the  rest,  that  known  humanity,  in 
deepest  sense,  is  fair  adhesion  to  Itself,  for  purposes 
beyond — and  that,  finally,  the  Personality  of  mortal  life 
is  most  important  with  reference  to  the  immortal,  the 
Unknown,  the  Spiritual,  the  only  permanently  real, 
which,  as  the  ocean  waits  for  and  receives  the  rivers, 
waits  for  us  each  and  all. 

Much  is  there,  yet,  demanding  line  and  outline  in  our 
Vistas,  not  only  on  these  topics,  but  others  quite  un 
written.  Indeed,  we  could  talk  the  matter,  and  expand 
it,  through  lifetime.  But  it  is  necessary  to  return  to 
our  original  premises.  In  view  of  them,  we  have  again 
pointedly  to  confess  that  all  the  objective  grandeurs  of 
the  World,  for  highest  purposes,  yield  themselves  up, 
and  depend  on  mentality  alone.  Here,  and  here  only, 
all  balances,  all  rests.  For  the  mind,  which  alone  builds 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  49 

the  permanent  edifice,  haughtily  builds  it  to  itself.  By 
it,  with  what  follows  it,  are  conveyed  to  mortal  sense 
the  culminations  of  the  materialistic,  the  known,  and  a 
prophecy  of  the  unknown.  To  take  expression,  to  in 
carnate,  to  endow  a  Literature  with  grand  and  arche 
typal  models — to  fill  with  pride  and  love  the  utmost 
capacity,  and  to  achieve  spiritual  meanings,  and  sug 
gest  the  future — these,  and  these  only,  satisfy  the  soul. 
We  must  not  say  one  word  against  real  materials  ;  but 
the  wise  know  that  they  do  not  become  real  till  touched 
by  emotions,  the  mind.  Did  we  call  the  latter  impon 
derable  ?  Ah,  let  us  rather  proclaim  that  the  slightest 
song- tune,  the  countless  ephemera  of  passions  aroused  by 
orators  and  tale-tellers,  are  more  dense,  more  weighty 
than  the  engines  there  in  the  great  factories,  or  the 
granite  blocks  in  their  foundations. 

— Approaching  thus  the  momentous  spaces,  and  con 
sidering  with  reference  to  a  new  and  greater  Personal- 
ism,  the  needs  and  possibilities  of  American  imaginative 
literature,  through  the  medium-light  of  what  we  have 
already  broached,  it  will  at  once  be  appreciated  that  a 
vast  gulf  of  difference  separates  the  present  accepted 
condition  of  these  spaces,  inclusive  of  what  is  floating 
in  them,  from  any  condition  adjusted  to,  or  fit  for,  the 
world,  the  America,  there  sought  to  be  indicated,  and 
the  copious  races  of  complete  men -and  women,  down 
along  these  Vistas  crudely  outlined. 

It  is,  in  some  sort,  no  less  a  difference  than  lies  be 
tween  that  long-continued  nebular  state  and  vagueness 
of  the  astronomical  worlds,  compared  with  the  subse 
quent  state,  the  definitely-formed  worlds  themselves, 
duly  compacted,  clustering  in  systems,  hung  up  there, 
chandeliers  of  the  universe,  beholding  and  mutually  lit 
by  each  other's  lights,  serving  for  ground  of  all  sub* 
stantial  foothold,  all  vulgar  uses — yet  serving  still  more 
r,s  an  undying  chain  and  echelon  of  spiritual  proofs  and 
shows.  A  boundless  field  to  fill !  A  new  Creation,  with 
needed  orbic  works  launched  forth,  to  revolve  in  free 
and  lawful  circuits — to  move,  self-poised,  through  the 
ether,  and  shine,  like  heaven's  own  suns!  With  such, 
and  nothing  less,  we  suggest  that  New  World  Litera- 


50  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

ture,  fit  to  rise  upon,  cohere,  and  signalize,  in  time, 
These  States. 

"What,  however,  do  we  more  definitely  mean  by  New 
AVorld  Literature  ?  Are  we  not  doing  well  enough  here 
already?  Are  not  the  United  States  this  day  busily 
using,  working,  more  printer's  type,  more  presses,  than 
any  other  country  ?  uttering  and  absorbing  more  publi 
cations  than  any  other?  Do  not  our  publishers  fatten 
quicker  and  deeper  ?  (helping  themselves,  under  shelter 
of  a  delusive  and  sneaking  law,  or  rather  absence  of 
law,  to  most  of  their  forage,  poetical,  pictorial,  histori 
cal,  romantic,  even  comic,  without  money  and  without 
price — and  fiercely  resisting  even  the  timidest  proposal 
to  pay  for  it.) 

Many  will  come  under  this  delusion — but  my  purpose 
is  to  dispel  it.  I  say  that  a  nation  may  hold  and  circu 
late  rivers  and  oceans  of  very  readable  print,  journals, 
magazines,  novels,  library-books,  "poetry,"  &c. — such 
as  The  States  to-day  possess  and  circulate — of  unques 
tionable  aid  and  value — hundreds  of  new  volumes  an 
nually  composed  and  brought  out  here,  respectable 
enough,  indeed  unsurpassed  in  smartness  and  erudi 
tion — with  further  hundreds,  or  rather  millions,  (as  by 
free  forage,  or  theft,  aforementioned,,)  also  thrown  into 
the  market, — And  yet,  all  the  while,  the  said  nation, 
land,  strictly  speaking,  may  possess  no  literature  at  all. 

Repeating  our  inquiry,  What,  then,  do  we  mean  by 
real  literature?  especially,  the  American  literature  of 
the  future  ?  Hard  questions  to  meet.  The  clues  are 
inferential,  and  turn  us  to  the  past.  At  best,  we  can 
only  offer  suggestions,  comparisons,  circuits. 

— It  must  still  be  reiterated,  as,  for  the  purpose  of 
these  Memoranda,  the  deep  lesson  of  History  and  Time, 
that  all  else  in  the  contributions  of  a  nation  or  age, 
through  its  politics,  materials,  heroic  personalities,  mili 
tary  eclat,  &c.,  remains  crude,  and  defers,  in  any  close 
and  thorough-going  estimate,  until  vitalized  by  national, 
original  archetypes  in  literature.  They  only  put  the 
nation  in  form,  finally  tell  anything,  prove,  complete 
anything— perpetuate  anything.  Without  doubt,  some 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  51 

of  the  richest  and  most  powerful  and  populous  commu 
nities  of  the  antique  world,  and  some  of  the  grandest 
personalities  and  events,  have,  to  after  and  present 
times,  left  themselves  entirely  unbequeathed.  Doubt 
less,  greater  than  any  that  have  come  down  to  us,  were 
among  those  lands,  heroisms,  persons,  that  have  not 
come  down  to  us  at  all,  even  by  name,  date,  or  location. 
Others  have  arrived  safely,  as  from  voyages  over  wide, 
centuries-stretching  seas.  The  little  ships,  the  miracles 
that  have  buoyed  them,  and  by  incredible  chances  safely 
conveyed  them,  (or  the  best  of  them,  their  meaning  and 
essence,)  over  long  wastes,  darkness,  lethargy,  igno 
rance,  &c.,  have  been  a  few  inscriptions — a  few  im 
mortal  compositions,  small  in  size,  yet  compassing  what 
measureless  values  of  reminiscence,  contemporary  por 
traitures,  manners,  idioms  and  beliefs,  with  deepest  in 
ference,  hint  and  thought,  to  tie  and  touch  forever  the 
old,  new  body,  and  the  old,  new  soul.  These !  and  still 
these !  bearing  the  freight  so  dear — dearer  than  pride — 
dearer  than  love.  All  the  best  experience  of  humanity, 
folded,  saved,  freighted  to  us  here !  Some  of  these  tiny 
ships  we  call  Old  and  New  Testament,  Homer,  Eschylus, 
Plato,  Juvenal,  &c.  Precious  minims !  I  think,  if  we 
were  forced  to  choose,  rather  than  have  you,  and  the 
likes  of  you,  and  what  belongs  to,  and  has  grown  of 
you,  blotted  out  and  gone,  we  could  better  afford,  ap 
palling  as  that  would  be,  to  lose  all  actual  ships,  this 
day  fastened  by  wharf,  or  floating  on  wave,  and  see 
them,  with  all  their  cargoes,  scuttled  and  sent  to  the 
bottom. 

Gathered  by  geniuses  of  city,  race,  or  age,  and  put  by 
them  in  highest  of  art's  forms,  namely,  the  literary  form, 
the  peculiar  combinations,  and  the  outshows  of  that  city, 
age,  or  race,  its  particular  modes  of  the  universal  attrir 
butes  and  passions,  its  faiths,  heroes,  lovers  and  gods, 
wars,  traditions,  struggles,  crimes,  emotions,  joys,  (or 
the  subtle  spirit  of  these,)  having  been  passed  on  to  us 
to  illumine  our  own  selfhood,  and  its  experiences — what 
they  supply,  indispensable  and  highest,  if  taken  away, 
nothing  else  in  all  the  world's  boundless  store-houses 
could  make  up  to  us,  or  ever  again  return. 


52  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

For  us,  along  the  great  highways  of  time,  those  monu 
ments  stand — those  forms  of  majesty  and  beauty.  For 
us  those  beacons  burn  through  all  the  nights.  Un 
known  Egyptians,  graving  hieroglyphs  ;  Hindus,  with 
hymn  and  apothegm  and  endless  epic  ;  Hebrew  prophet, 
with  spirituality,  as  in  flashes  of  lightning,  conscience, 
like  red-hot  iron,  plaintive  songs  and  screams  of  ven 
geance  for  tyrannies  and  enslavement;  Christ,  with 
bent  head,  brooding  love  and  peace,  like  a  dove  ;  Greek, 
creating  eternal  shapes  of  physical  and  esthetic  propor 
tion  ;  Roman,  lord  of  satire,  the  sword,  and  the  codex ; — 
of  the  figures,  some  far-off  and  veiled,  others  nearer  and 
visible;  Dante,  stalking  with  lean  form,  nothing  but 
fibre,  not  a  grain  of  superfluous  flesh  ;  Angelo,  and  the 
great  painters,  architects,  musicians ;  rich  Shakespeare, 
luxuriant  as  the  sun,  artist  and  singer  of  Feudalism  in 
its  sunset,  with  all  the  gorgeous  colors,  owner  thereof, 
and  using  them  at  will ; — and  so  to  such  as  German 
Kant  and  Hegel,  where  they,  though  near  us,  leaping 
over  the  ages,  sit  again,  impassive,  imperturbable,  like 
the  Egyptian  gods.  Of  these,  and  the  like  of  these,  is 
it  too  much,  indeed,  to  return  to  our  favorite  figure,  and 
view  them  as  orbs  and  systems  of  orbs,  moving  in  free 
paths  in  the  spaces  of  that  other  heaven,  the  kosmic  in 
tellect,  the  Soul? 

Ye  powerful  and  resplendent  ones !  ye  were,  in  your 
atmospheres,  grown  not  for  America,  but  rather  for  her 
foes,  the  Feudal  and  the  old — while  our  genius  is  Demo 
cratic  and  modern.  Yet  could  ye,  indeed,  but  breathe 
your  breath  of  life  into  our  New  World's  nostrils — not 
to  enslave  us,  as  now,  but,  for  our  needs,  to  breed  a 
spirit  like  your  own— perhaps,  (dare  we  to  say  it?)  to 
dominate,  even  destroy,  what  you  yourselves  have  left ! 
On  your  plane,  and  no  less,  but  even  higher  and  wider, 
will  I  mete  and  measure  for  our  wants  to-day  and  here. 
I  demand  races  of  orbic  bards,  with  unconditional,  un 
compromising  sway.  Come  forth,  sweet  democratic 
despots  of  the  west ! 

By  points  and  specimens  like  these  we,  in  reflection, 
token  what  we  mean  by  any  land's  or  people's  genuine 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  53 

literature.  And  thus  compared  and  tested,  judging 
amid  the  influence  of  loftiest  products  only,  what  do 
our  current  copious  fields  of  print,  covering,  in  mani 
fold  forms,  the  United  States,  better,  for  an  analogy, 
present,  than,  as  in  certain  regions  of  the  sea,  those 
spreading,  undulating  masses  of  squid,  through  which 
the  whale,  swimming  with  head  half  out,  feeds  ? 

Not  but  that  doubtless  our  current  so-called  litera 
ture,  (like  an  endless  supply  of  small  coin,)  performs  a 
certain  service,  and  may-be,  too,  the  service  needed  for 
the  time,  (the  preparation  service,  as  children  learn  to 
spell.)  Everybody  reads,  and  truly  nearly  everybody 
writes,  either  books,  or  for  the  magazines  or  journals. 
The  matter  has  magnitude,  too,  after  a  sort.  There  is 
something  impressive  about  the  huge  editions  of  the 
dailies,  and  weeklies,  the  mountain-stacks  of  whits  paper 
piled  in  the  press-vaults,  and  the  proud,  crashing,  ten- 
cylinder  presses,  which  I  can  stand  and  watch  any  time 
by  the  half  hour.  Then,  (though  The  States  in  the  field 
of  Imagination  present  not  a  single  first-class  work,  not 
a  single  great  Literafcus,)  the  main  objects,  to  amuse,  to 
titillate,  to  pass  away  time,  to  circulate  the  news  and 
rumors  of  news,  to  rhyme  and  read  rhyme,  are  yet  at 
tained,  and  on  a  scale  of  infinity.  To-day,  in  books,  in 
the  rivalry  of  writers,  especially  novelists,  success,  (so- 
called,)  is  for  him  or  her  who  strikes  the  mean  flat  aver 
age,  the  sensational  appetite  for  stimulus,  incident,  &c., 
and  depicts,  to  the  common  calibre,  sensual,  exterior 
life.  To  such,  or  the  luckiest  of  them,  as  we  see,  the 
audiences  are  limitless  and  profitable ;  but  they  cease 
presently.  While,  this  day  or  any  day,  to  workmen, 
portraying  interior  or  spiritual  life,  the  audiences  were 
limited,  and  often  laggard — but  they  last  forever. 

— Compared  with  the  past,  our  modern  science  soars, 
and  our  journals  serve ;  but  ideal  and  even  ordinary 
romantic  literature  does  not,  I  think,  substantially  ad 
vance.  Behold  the  prolific  brood  of  the  contemporary 
novel,  magazine-tale,  theatre-play,  &c.  The  same  end 
less  thread  of  tangled  and  superlative  love-story,  in 
herited,  apparently,  from  the  Amadises  and  Palmerins 
of  the  13th,  14th  and  15th  centuries  over  there  in  Eu- 


54  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

rope.  The  costumes  and  associations  are  brought  down 
to  date,  the  seasoning  is  hotter  and  more  varied,  the 
dragons  and  ogres  are  left  out — but  the  thing,  I  should 
say,  has  not  advanced — is  just  as  sensational,  just  as 
strained — remains  about  the  same,  nor  more,  nor  less. 

— What  is  the  reason,  our  time,  our  lands,  that  we 
see  no  fresh  local  courage,  sanity,,  of  our  own — the  Mis 
sissippi,  stalwart  Western  men,  real  mental  and  physical 
facts,  Southerners,  &c.,  in  the  body  of  our  literature  ? 
especially  the  poetic  part  of  it.  But  always,  instead,  a 

Earcel  of  dandies  and  ennuyees,  dapper  little  gentlemen 
:om  abroad,  who  flood  us  with  their  thin  sentiment 
of  parlors,  parasols,  piano-songs,  tinkling  rhymes,  the 
five-hundredth  importation,  or  whimpering  and  crying 
about  something,  chasing  one  aborted  conceit  after  an 
other,  and  forever  occupied  in  dyspeptic  amours  with 
dyspeptic  women. 

While,  current  and  novel,  the  grandest  events  and 
revolutions,  and  stormiest  passions  of  history,  are  cross 
ing  to-day  with  unparalleled  rapidity  and  magnificence 
over  the  stages  of  our  own  and  all  the  continents,  offer 
ing  new  materials,  opening  new  vistas,  with  largest 
needs,  inviting  the  daring  launching  forth  of  concep 
tions  in  Literature,  inspired  by  them,  soaring  in  highest 
regions,  serving  Art  in  its  highest,  (which  is  only  the 
other  name  for  serving  God,  and  serving  Humanity,) 
where  is  the  man  of  letters,  where  is  the  book,  with  any 
nobler  aim  than  to  follow  in  the  old  track,  repeat  what 
has  been  said  before — and,  as  its  utmost  triumph,  sell 
well,  and  be  erudite  or  elegant  ? 

Mark  the  roads,  the  processes,  through  which  These 
States  have  arrived,  standing  easy,  ever-equal,  ever- 
compact,  in  their  range,  to-day.  European  adven 
tures?  the  most  antique?  Asiatic  or  African?  old 
history — miracles — romances  ?  Bather,  our  own  un 
questioned  facts.  They  hasten,  incredible,  blazing 
bright  as  fire.  From  the  deeds  and  days  of  Columbus 
down  to  the  present,  and  including  the  present — and 
especially  the  late  Secession  war — when  I  con  them,  I 
feel,  every  leaf,  like  stopping  to  see  if  I  have  not  made 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  55 

a  mistake,  and  fallen  upon   the  splendid  figments  of 
some  dreara. 

But  it  is  no  dream.  We  stand,  live,  move,  in  the 
huge  flow  of  our  age's  materialism — in  its  spirituality. 
We  have  had  founded  for  us  the  most  positive  of  lands. 
The  founders  have  passed  to  other  spheres — But  what 
are  these  terrible  duties  they  have  left  us  ? 

Their  politics  the  United  States  have,  in  my  opinion, 
with  all  their  faults,  already  substantially  established, 
for  good,  on  their  own  native,  sound,  long-vista'd  prin 
ciples,  never  to  be  overturned,  offering^  sure  basis  for 
all  the  rest.  With  that,  their  future  religious  forms, 
sociology,  literature,  teachers,  schools,  costumes,  &ci, 
are  of  course  to  make  a  compact  whole,  uniform,  on 
tallying  principles.  For  how  can  we  remain,  divided, 
contradicting  ourselves,  this  way  ?  *  I  say  we  can  only 
attain  harmony  and  stability  by  consulting  ensemble, 
and  the  ethic  purports,  and  faithfully  building  upon 
them. 

For  the  New  World,  indeed,  after  two  grand  stages 
of  preparation-strata,  I  perceive  that  now,  a  third  stage, 
being  ready  for,  (and  without  which  the  other  two  were 
useless,)  with  unmistakable  signs  appears.  The  First 
Stage  was  the  planning  and  putting  on  record  the  po 
litical  foundation  rights  of  immense  masses  of  people — 
indeed  all  people — in  the  organization  of  Republican 
National,  State,  and  Municipal  governments,  all  con 
structed  with  reference  to  each,  and  each  to  all.  This 
is  the  American  programme,  not  for  classes,  but  for 
universal  man,  and  is  embodied  in  the  compacts  of  the 


*  Note,  to-day,  an  instructive,  curious  spectacle  and  conflict. 
Science,  (twin,  in  its  fields,  of  Democracy  in  its)— Science,  testing 
absolutely  all  thoughts,  all  works,  has  already  burst  well  upon 
the  world — a  Sun,  mounting,  most  illuminating,  most  glorious — 
surely  never  again  to  set.  But  against  it,  deeply  entrenched, 
holding  possession,  yet  remains,  (not  only  through  the  churches 
and  schools,  but  by  imaginative  literature,  and  unregenerate 
poetry,)  the  fossil  theology  of  the  mythic-materialistic,  supersti 
tious,  untaught  and  credulous,  fable-loving,  primitive  ages  of  hu 
manity. 


56  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

Declaration  of  Independence,  and,  as  it  began  and  has 
now  grown,  with  its  amendments,  the  Federal  Consti 
tution — and  in  the  State  governments,  with  all  their 
interiors,  and  with  general  suffrage  ;  those  having  the 
sense  not  only  of  what  is  in  themselves,  but  that  their 
certain  several  things  started,  planted,  hundreds  of 
others,  in  the  same  direction,  duty  arise  and  follow. 
The  Second  Stage  relates  to  material  prosperity,  wealth, 
produce,  labor-saving  machines,  iron,  cotton,  local,  State 
and  continental  railways,  intercommunication  and  trade 
with  all  lands,  steamships,  mining,  general  employment, 
organization  of  great  cities,  cheap  appliances  for  com 
fort,  numberless  technical  schools,  books,  newspapers, 
a  currency  for  money  circulation,  &c.  The  Third  Stage, 
rising  out  of  the  previous  ones,  to  make  them  and  all 
illustrious,  I,  now,  for  one,  promulge,  announcing  a  na 
tive  Expression  Spirit,  getting  into  form,  adult,  and 
through  mentality,  for  These  States,  self-contained,  dif 
ferent  from  others,  more  expansive,  more  rich  and  free, 
to  be  evidenced  by  original  authors  and  poets  to  come, 
by  American  personalities,  plenty  of  them,  male  and 
female,  traversing  the  States,  none  excepted — and  by 
native  superber  tableaux  and  growths  of  language, 
songs,  operas,  orations,  lectures,  architecture — and  by 
a  sublime  and  serious  Religious  Democracy  sternly 
taking  command,  dissolving  the  old,  sloughing  off  sur 
faces,  and  from  its  own  interior  and  vital  principles, 
entirely  reconstructing  Society. 

— For  America,  type  of  progress,  and  of  essential 
faith  in  Man — above  all  his  errors  and  wickedness — 
few  suspect  how  deep,  how  deep  it  really  strikes.  The 
world  evidently  supposes,  and  we  have  evidently  sup 
posed  so  too,  that  The  States  are  merely  to  achieve  the 
equal  franchise,  an  elective  government — to  inaugurate 
the  respectability  of  labor,  and  become  a  nation  of  prac 
tical  operatives,  law-abiding,  orderly  and  well-off.  Yes, 
those  are  indeed  parts  of  the  tasks  of  America ;  but 
they  not  only  do  not  exhaust  the  progressive  concep 
tion,  but  rather  arise,  teeming  with  it,  as  the  mediums 
of  deeper,  higher  progress.  Daughter  of  a  physical 
revolution — Mother  of  the  true  revolutions,  which  are 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  57 

of  the  interior  life,  and  of  the  arts.  For  so  long  as  the 
spirit  is  not  changed,  any  change  of  appearance  is  of  110 
avail. 

—The  old  men,  I  remember  as  a  boy,  were  always 
talking  of  American  Independence.  What  is  independ 
ence  ?  Freedom  from  ail  laws  or  bonds  except  those  of 
one's  own  being,  controlled  by  the  universal  ones.  To 
lands,  to  man,  to  woman,  what  is  there  at  last  to  each, 
but  the  inherent  soul,  nativity,  idiocrasy,  free,  highest- 
poised,  soaring  its  own  flight,  following  out  itself  ? 

— At  present,  These  States,  in  their  theology  and  so 
cial  standards,  &c.,  (of  greater  importance  than  their 
political  institutions,)  are  entirely  held  possession  of  by 
foreign  lands.  We  see  the  sons  and  daughters  01  the. 
New  World,  ignorant  of  its  genius,  not  yet  inaugurating 
the  native,  the  universal,  and  the  near,  still  importing 
the  distant,  the  partial,  and  the  dead.  We  see  London, 
Paris,  Italy — not  original,  superb,  as  where  they  be 
long — but  second-hand  here  where  they  do  not  belong. 
We  see  the  shreds  of  Hebrews,  Konaans,  Greeks ;  but 
where,  on  her  own  soil,  do  we  see,  in  any  faithful,  high 
est,  proud  expression,  America  herself?  I  sometimes 
question  whether  she  has  a  corner  in  her  own  house. 

Not  but  that  in  one  sense,  and  a  very  grand  one,  good 
theology,  good  Art,  or  good  Literature,  has  certain  fea 
tures  shared  in  common.  The  combination  fraternizes, 
ties  the  races — is,  in  many  particulars,  under  laws  appli 
cable  indifferently  to  all,  irrespective  of  climate  or  date, 
and,  from  whatever  source,  appeals  to  emotions,  pride, 
love,  spirituality,  common  to  humankind.  Neverthe 
less,  they  touch  a  man  closest,  (perhaps  only  actually 
touch  him,)  even  in  these,  in  their  expression  through 
autochthonic  lights  and  shades,  flavors,  fondnesses, 
aversions,  specific  incidents,  illustrations,  out  of  his  own 
nationality,  geography,  surroundings,  antecedents,  £c. 
The  spirit  and  the  form  are  one,  and  depend  far  more 
on  association,  identity  and  place,  than  is  supposed. 
Subtly  interwoven  with  the  materiality  and  personality 
of  a  land,  a  race — Teuton,  Turk,  Californian,  or  what 
not — there  is  always  something — I  can  hardly  tell  what 


58  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

it  is, — History  but  describes  the  results  of  it, — it  is  the 
same  as  the  uritellable  look  of  some  human  faces.  Na 
ture,  too,  in  her  stolid  forms,  is  full  of  it — but  to  most 
it  is  there  a  secret.  This  something  is  rooted  in  the  in- 
yisible  roots,  the  profoundest  meanings  of  that  place, 
race,  or  nationality  ;  and  to  absorb  and  again  effuse  it, 
uttering  words  and  products  as  from  its  midst,  and  car 
rying  it  into  highest  regions,  is  the  work,  or  a  main  part 
of  the  work,  of  any  country's  true  author,  poet,  histo 
rian,  lecturer,  and  perhaps  even  priest  and  pliilosoph. 
Here,  and  here  only,  are  the  foundations  for  our  really 
valuable  and  permanent  verse,  drama,  &c. 

But  at  present,  (judged  by  any  higher  scale  than  that 
•which  finds  the  chief  ends  of  existence  to  be  to  fever 
ishly  make  money  during  one-half  of  it,  and  by  some 
"amusement,"  or  perhaps  foreign  travel,  flippantly  kill 
time,  the  other  half,)  and  considered  with  reference  to 
purposes  of  patriotism,  health,  a  noble  Personality,  re 
ligion,  and  the  democratic  adjustments,  all  these  swarms 
of  poems,  dramatic  plays,  resultant  so  far  from  Ameri 
can  intellect,  and  the  formulation  of  our  best  ideas,  are 
useless  and  a  mockery.  They  strengthen  and  nourish 
no  one,  express  nothing  characteristic,  give  decision  and 
purpose  to  no  one,  and  suffice  only  the  lowest  level  of 
vacant  minds. 

Of  the  question,  indeed,  of  what  is  called  the  Drama, 
or  dramatic  presentation  in  the  United  States,  as  now 
put  forth  at  the  theatres,  I  should  say  it  deserves  to  be 
treated  with  the  same  gravity,  and  on  a  par  with  the 
questions  of  ornamental  confectionery  at  public  dinners, 
or  the  arrangement  of  curtains  and  hangings  in  a  ball 
room — nor  more,  nor  less. 

Of  the  other,  I  will  not  insult  the  reader's  intelli 
gence,  (once  really  entering  into  the  atmosphere  of 
these  Vistas,)  by  supposing  it  necessary  to  show,  in  de 
tail,  why  the  copious  dribble,  either  of  our  little  or  well- 
known  rhymesters,  does  not  fulfil,  in  any  respect,  the 
needs  and  august  occasions  of  this  land.  America  de 
mands  a  Poetry  that  is  bold,  modern,  and  all-surround 
ing  and  kosmical,  as  she  is  herself.  It  must  in  no  re 
spect  ignore  science  or  the  modern,  but  i  aspire  itself 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  59 

with,  science  and  the  modern.  It  must  bend  its  vision 
toward  the  future,  more  than  the  past.  Like  America, 
it  must  extricate  itself  from  even  the  greatest  models 
of  tha  past,  and,  while  courteous  to  them,  must  have 
entire  faith  in  itself  and  products  out  of  its  own  origi 
nal  spirit  only.  Like  her,  it  must  place  in  the  van,  and 
hold  up  at  all  hazards,  the  banner  of  the  divine  pride 
of  man  in  himself,  (the  radical  foundation  of  the  new 
religion.)  Long  enough  have  the  People  been  listening 
to  poems  in  which  common  Humanity,  deferential,  bends 
low,  humiliated,  acknowledging  superiors.  But  America 
listens  to  no  such  poems.  Erect,  inflated,  and  fully  self- 
esteeming  be  the  chant ;  and  then  America  will  listen 
with  pleased  ears. 

— Nor  may  the  genuine  gold,  the  gems,  when  brought 
to  light  at  last,  be  probably  ushered  forth  from  any  of 
the  quarters  currently  counted  on.  To-day,  doubtless, 
the  infant  Genius  of  American  poetic  expression,  (elud 
ing  those  highly-refined  imported  and  gilt-edged  themes, 
and  sentimental  and  butterfly  flights,  pleasant  to  New 
York,  Boston,  and  Philadelphia  publishers — causing 
tender  spasms  in  the  coteries,  and  warranted  not  to 
chafe  the  sensitive  cuticle  of  the  most  exquisitely  artifi 
cial  gossamer  delicacy,)  lies  sleeping  far  away,  happily 
unrecognized  and  uninjured  by  the  coteries,  the  art- 
writers,  the  talkers  and  critics  of  the  saloons,  or  the 
lecturers  in  the  colleges — lies  sleeping,  aside,  unreck- 
ing  itself,  in  some  Western  idiom,  or  native  Michigan 
or  Tennessee  repartee,  or  stump-speech — or  in  Ken 
tucky  or  Georgia  or  the  Carolinas — or  in  some  slang  or 
local  song  or  allusion  of  the  Manhattan,  Boston,  Phila 
delphia  or  Baltimore  mechanic — or  up  in  the  Maine 
woods — or  off  in  the  hut  of  the  California  miner,  or 
crossing  the  Rocky  mountains,  or  along  the  Pacific  rail 
road — or  on  the  breasts  of  the  young  farmers  of  tide 
Northwest,  or  Canada,  or  boatmen  of  the  lakes.  Rude 
and  coarse  nursing-beds  these  ;  but  only  from  such  be 
ginnings  and  stocks,  indigenous  here,  may  haply  arrive, 
be  grafted,  and  sprout,  in  time,  flowers  of  genuine  Amer 
ican  aroma,  and  fruits  truly  and  fully  our  own. 

— I  say  it  were  a  standing  disgrace 'to  These  States — i 


60  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

I  say  it  were  a  disgrace  to  any  nation,  distinguished 
above  others  by  the  variety  and  vastness  of  its  territo 
ries,  its  materials,  its  inventive  activity,  and  the  splendid 
practicality  of  its  people,  not  to  rise  and  soar^above 
others  also  in  its  original  styles  in  literature  and  art, 
and  its  own  supply  of  intellectual  and  esthetic  master 
pieces,  archetypal,  and  consistent  with  itself.  I  know 
not  a  land  except  ours  that  has  not,  to  some  extent, 
however  small,  made  its  title  clear.  The  Scotch  have 
their  born  ballads,  tunes  subtly  expressing  their  past 
and  present,  and  expressing  character.  The  Irish  have 
theirs.  England,  Italy,  France,  Spain,  theirs.  What 
has  America?  With  exhaustless  mines  of  the  richest 
ore  of  epic,  lyric,  tale,  tune,  picture,  &c.,  in  the  Four 
Years'  War ;  with,  indeed,  I  sometimes  think,  the  richest 
masses  of  material  ever  afforded  a  nation,  more  varie 
gated,  and  on  a  larger  scale — the  first  sign  of  propor 
tionate,  native,  imaginative  Soul,  and  first-class  works 
to  match,  is,  (I  cannot  too  often  repeat,)  so  far  wanting. 

Long  ere  the  Second  Centennial  arrives,  there 
will  be  some  Forty  to  Fifty  great  States,  among  them 
Canada  and  Cuba.  The  population  will  be  sixty  or  sev 
enty  millions.  The  Pacific  will  be  ours,  and  the  Atlantic 
mainly  ours.  There  will  be  -daily  electric  communica 
tion  with  every  part  of  the  globe.  What  an  age !  What 
a  land!  Where,  elsewhere,  one  so  great?  The  Indi 
viduality  of  one  nation  must  then,  as  always,  lead  the 
world.  Can  there  be  any  doubt  who  the  leader  ought 
to  be  ?  Bear  in  mind,  though,  that  nothing  less  than 
the  mightiest  original  non-subordinated  SOUL  has  ever 
really,  gloriously  led,  or  ever  can  lead.  (This  Soul — 
its  other  name,  in  these  Vistas,  is  LITERATURE.) 

In  fond  fancy  leaping  those  hundred  years  ahead,  let 
us  survey  America's  works,  poems,  philosophies,  fulfill 
ing  prophecies,  and  giving  form  and  decision  to  best 
ideals.  Much  that  is  now  undreamed  of,  we  might  then 
perhaps  see  established,  luxuriantly  cropping  forth,  rich 
ness,  vigor  of  letters  and  of  artistic  expression,  in  whose 
products  character  will  be  a  main  requirement,  and  not 
merely  erudition  or  elegance. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  61 

Intense  and  loving  comradeship,  the  personal  and 
passionate  attachment  of  man  to  man — which,  hard  to 
define,  underlies  the  lessons  and  ideals  of  the  profound 
saviours  of  every  land  and  age,  and  which  seems  to 
promise,  when  thoroughly  developed,  cultivated  and 
recognized  in  manners  and  Literature,  the  most  sub 
stantial  hope  and  safety  of  the  future  of  These  States, 
will  then  be  fully  expressed.* 

A  strong-fibred  Joyousness,  and  Faith,  and  the  sense 
of  Health  al  fresco,  may  well  enter  into  the  preparation 
of  future  noble  American  authorship.  Part  of  the  test 
of  a  great  Literatus  shall  be  the  absence  in  him  of  the 
idea  of  the  covert,  the  artificial,  the  lurid,  the  malefi 
cent,  the  devil,  the  grim  estimates  inherited  from  the 
Puritans,  hell,  natural  depravity,  and  the  like.  The 
great  Literatus  will  be  known,  among  the  rest,  by  his 
cheerful  simplicity,  his  adherence  to  natural  standards, 
his  limitless  faith  in  God,  his  reverence,  and  by  the  ab 
sence  in  him  of  doubt,  ennui,  burlesque,  persiflage,  or 
any  strained  and  temporary  fashion. 

Nor  must  I  fail,  again  and  yet  again,  to  clinch,  reit 
erate  more  plainly  still,  (O  that  indeed  such  survey  as 
we  fancy,  may  show  in  time  this  part  completed  also!) 
the  lofty  aim,  surely  the  proudest  and  the  purest,  in 
whose  service  the  future  Literatus,  of  whatever  field, 
may  gladly  labor.  As  we  have  intimated,  offsetting  the 


*  It  is  to  the  development,  identification,  and  general  prevalence 
of  that  fervid  comradeship,  (the  adhesive  love,  at  least  rivaling  the 
amative  love  hitherto  possessing  imaginative  literature,  if  not 
going  beyond  it,)  that  I  look  for  the  counterbalance  and  offset  of 
our  materialistic  and  vulgar  American  Democracy,  and  for  the 
spiritualization  thereof.  Many  will  say  it  is  a  dream,  and  will 
not  follow  my  inferences ;  but  I  confidently  expect  a  time  when 
there  will  be  seen,  running  like  a  half-hid  warp  through  all  the 
myriad  audible  and  visible  worldly  interests  of  America,  threads 
of  manly  friendship,  fond  and  loving,  pare  and  sweet,  strong  and 
life-long,  carried  to  degrees  hitherto  unknown — not  only  giving 
tone  to  individual  character,  and  making  it  unprecedently  emo 
tional,  muscular,  heroic,  and  refined,  but  having  deepest  relations 
to  general  politics.  I  say  Democracy  infers  such  loving  comrade 
ship,  as  its  most  inevitable  twin  or  counterpart,  without  which  it 
will  be  incomplete,  in  vain,  and  incapable  of  perpetuating  it  self. 


62  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

material  civilization  of  our  race,  our  Nationality,  its 
wealth,  territories,  factories,  population,  luxuries,  pro 
ducts,  trade,  and  military  and  naval  strength,  and 
breathing  breath  of  life  into  all  these,  and  more,  must 
be  its  Moral  Civilization — the  formulation,  expression, 
and  aidancy  whereof,  is  the  very  highest  height  of  lit 
erature.  And  still  within  this  wheel,  revolves  another 
wheel.  The  climax  of  this  loftiest  range  of  modern 
civilization,  giving  finish  and  hue,  and  rising  above  all 
the  gorgeous  shows  and  results  of  wealth,  intellect, 
power,  and  art,  as  such — above  even  theology  and  reli 
gious  fervor — is  to  be  its  development,  from  the  eternal 
bases,  and  the  fit  expression,  of  absolute  Conscience, 
moral  soundness,  Justice.  I  say  there  is  nothing  else 
higher,  for  Nation,  Individual,  or  for  Literature,  than 
the  idea,  and  practical  realization  and  expression  of  the 
idea,  of  Conscience,  kept  at  topmost  mark,  absolute  in 
itself,  well  cultivated,  uncontaminated  by  the  manifold 
weeds,  the  cheats,  changes,  and  vulgarities  of  the  fash 
ions  of  the  world.  Even  in  religious  fervor  there  is  a 
touch  of  animal  heat.  But  moral  conscientiousness, 
crystalline,  without  flaw,  not  Godlike  only,  entirely 
Human,  awes  and  enchants  nie  forever.  Great  is  emo 
tional  Love,  even  in  the  order  of  the  rational  universe. 
But,  if  we  must  make  gradations,  I  am  clear  there  is 
something  greater.  Power,  love,  veneration,  products, 
genius,  esthetics,  tried  by  subtlest  comparisons,  analyses, 
and  in  serenest  moods,  somewhere  fail,  somehow  be 
come  vain.  Then  noiseless,  with  flowing  steps,  the  lord, 
the  sun,  the  last  Ideal  comes.  By  the  names  Bight, 
Justice,  Truth,  we  suggest,  but  do  not  describe  it.  To 
the  world  of  men  it  remains  a  dream,  an  idea  as  they 
call  it.  Biit  no  dream  is  it  to  the  wise — but  the  proud 
est,  almost  only  solid  lasting  thing  of  all. 

I  say,  again  and  forever,  the  triumph  of  America's 
democratic  formules  is  to  be  the  inauguration,  growth, 
acceptance,  and  unmistakable  supremacy  among  indi 
viduals,  cities,  States,  and  the  Nation,  of  moral  Con 
science.  Its  analogy  in  the  material  universe  is  what 
holds  together  this  world,  and  every  object  upon  it,  and 
carries  its  dynamics  on  forever  sure  and  safe.  Its  lack, 


DEHOCEATIC  VISTAS.  63 

and  the  persistent  shirking  of  it,  as  in  life,  sociology, 
literature,  politics,  business,  and  even  sermonizing,  these 
times,  or  any  times,  still  leaves  the  abysm,  the  mortal 
flaw  and  smutch,  mocking  civilization  to-day,  with  all 
its  unquestioned  triumphs,  and  all  the  civilization  so 
far  known.  Such  is  the  thought  I  would  especially  be 
queath  to  any  earnest  persons,  students  of  these  Vistas, 
and  following  after  me.* 

Present  Literature,  while  magnificently  fulfilling  cer 
tain  popular  demands,  with  plenteous  knowledge  and 
verbal  smartness,  is  profoundly  sophisticated,  insane, 
and  its  very  joy  is  morbid.  It  needs  retain  the  knowl 
edge,  and  fulfil  the  demands,  but  needs  to  purge  itself ; 
or  rather  needs  to  be  born  again,  become  unsophisti 
cated,  and  become  sane.  It  needs  tally  and  express 
Nature,  and  the  spirit  of  Nature,  and  to  know  and  obey 
the  standards.  I  say  the  question  of  Nature,  largely 
considered,  involves  the  questions  of  the  esthetic,  the 
emotional,  and  the  religious — and  involves  happiness. 
A  fitly  born  and  bred  race,  growing  up  in  right  condi- 


'""  I  am  reminded  as  I  write  that  out  of  this  very  Conscience,  or 
idea  of  Conscience,  of  intense  moral  right,  and  in  its  name  and 
strained  construction,  the  worst  fanaticisms,  wars,  persecutions, 
murders,  &c.,  have  yet,  in  all  lands,  been  broached,  and  have  come 
to  their  devilish  fruition.  Much  is  to  be  said — but  I  may  say 
here,  and  in  response,  that  side  by  side  with  the  unflagging  stimu 
lation  of  the  elements  of  Religion  and  Conscience  must  henceforth 
move  with  equal  sway,  science,  absolute  reason,  and  the  general 
proportionate  development  of  the  whole  man.  These  scientific 
facts,  deductions,  are  divine  too — precious  counted  parts  of  moral 
civilization,  and,  with  physical  health,  indispensable  to  it,  to  pre 
vent  fanaticism.  For  Abstract;  Religion,  I  perceive,  is  easily  led 
astray,  ever  credulous,  and  is  capable  of  devouring,  remorseless, 
like  fire  and  flame.  Conscience,  too,  isolated  from  all  else,  and 
from  the  emotional  nature,  may  but  attain  the  beauty  and  purity 
of  glacial,  snowy  ice.  We  want,  for  These  States,  for  the  general 
character,  a  cheerful,  religious  fervor,  enhued  with  the  ever-present 
modifications  of  the  human  emotions,  friendship,  benevolence^ 
with  a  fair  field  for  scientific  inquiry,  the  right  of  individual 
judgment,  and  always  the  cooling  influences  of  material  Nature. 
We  want  not  again  either  the  religious  fervor  of  the  Spanish  In 
quisition,  nor  the  morality  of  the  New  England  Puritans. 


64  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

tions  of  out-door  as  much  as  in-door  harmony,  ac 
tivity,  and  development,  would  probably,  from  and  in 
those  conditions,  find  it  enough  merely  to  live — and 
would,  in  their  relations  to  the  sky,  air,  water,  trees, 
&c.,  and  to  the  countless  common  shows,  and  in  the 
fact  of  Life  itself,  discover  and  achieve  happiness — 
with  Beirg  suffused  night  and  day  by  wholesome 
extasy,  surpassing  all  the  pleasures  that  wealth,  amuse 
ment,  and  even  gratified  intellect,  erudition,  or  the  sense 
of  art,  can  give. 

In  the  prophetic  literature  of  These  States,  Nature, 
true  Nature,  and  the  true  idea  of  Nature,  long  absent, 
must,  above  all,  become  fully  restored,  enlarged,  and 
must  furnish  the  pervading  atmosphere  to  poems,  and 
the  test  of  all  high  literary  and  esthetic  compositions. 
I  do  not  mean  the  smooth  walks,  trimm'd  hedges,  but 
terflies,  poseys  and  nightingales  of  the  English  poets, 
but  the  whole  Orb,  with  its  geologic  history,  the  Kosmos, 
carrying  fire  and  snow,  that  rolls  through  the  illimitable 
areas,  light  as  a  feather,  though  weighing  billions  of 
tons.  Furthermore,  as  by  what  we  now  partially  call 
Nature  is  intended,  at  most,  only  what  is  entertainable 
by  the  physical  conscience,  the  lessons  of  the  esthetic, 
the  sense  of  matter,  and  of  good  animal  health — on 
these  it  must  be  distinctly  accumulated,  incorporated, 
that  man,  comprehending  these,  has,  in  towering  super- 
addition,  the  Moral  and  Spiritual  Consciences,  indi 
cating  his  destination  beyond  the  ostensible,  the  mortal. 

To  the  heights  of  such  estimate  of  Nature  indeed 
ascending,  we  proceed  to  make  observations  for  our 
Vistas,  breathing  rarest  air.  What  is  I  believe  called 
Idealism  seems  to  me  to  suggest,  (guarding  against  ex 
travagance,  and  ever  modified  even  by  its  opposite,)  the 
course  of  inquiry  and  desert  of  favor  for  our  New  World 
metaphysics,  their  foundation  of  and  in  literature,  giv 
ing  hue  to  all.* 

*  The  culmination  and  fruit  of  literary  artistic  expression,  and 
its  final  fields  of  pleasure  for  the  human  soul,  are  in  Metaphysics, 
including-  the  mysteries  of  the  spiritual  world,  the  soul  itself,  and 
the  question  of  the  immortal  continuation  of  our  identity.  In  all 
ages,  the  mind  of  man  has  brought  up  here — and  always  will. 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  65 

The  elevating  and  etherealizing  ideas  of  the  Unknown 
and  of  Unreality  must  be  brought  forward  with  au- 

Here,  at  least,  of  whatever  race  or  era,  we  stand  on  common 
ground.  Applause,  too,  is  unanimous,  antique  or  modern.  Those 
authors  who  work  well  in  this  field — though  their  reward,  instead 
of  a  handsome  percentage,  or  royalty,  may  be  but  simply  the 
laurel-crown  of  the  victors  in  the  great  Olympic  games — will  be 
dearest  to  humanity,  and  their  works,  however  esthetically  defec 
tive,  will  be  treasured  forever.  The  altitude  of  literature  and 
poetry  has  always  been  Religion — and  always  will  be.  The  In 
dian  Vedas,  the  Nac.kas  of  Zoroaster,  The  Talmud  of  the  Jews, 
the  Old  Testament  also,  the  Gospel  of  Christ  and  his  disciples, 
Plato's  works,  the  Koran  of  Mohammed,  the  Edda  of  Snorro,  and 
so  on  toward  our  own  day,  to  Swedenborg,  and  to  the  invaluable 
contributions  of  Leibnitz,  Kant  and  Hegel, — these,  with  such 
poems  only  in  which,  (while  singing  well  of  persons  and  events, 
of  the  passions  of  man,  and  the  shows  of  the  material  universe,) 
the  religious  tone,  the  consciousness  of  mystery,  the  recognition 
of  the  future,  of  the  unknown,  of  Deity,  over  and  under  all,  and 
of  the  divine  purpose,  are  never  absent,  but  indirectly  give  tone 
to  all — exhibit  literature's  real  heights  and  elevations,  towering 
up  like  the  great  mountains  of  the  earth. 

Standing  on  this  ground — the  last,  the  highest,  only  permanent 
ground — and  sternly  criticising,  from  it,  all  works,  either  of  the 
literary,  or  any  Art,  we  have  peremptorily  to  dismiss  every  pre- 
tensive  production,  however  fine  its  esthetic  or  intellectual  points, 
which  violates,  or  ignores,  or  even  does  not  celebrate,  the  central 
Divine  Idea  of  All,  suffusing  universe,  of  eternal  trains  of  purpose, 
in  the  development,  by  however  slow  degrees,  of  the  physical, 
moral,  and  spiritual  Kosmos.  I  say  he  has  studied,  meditated  to 
no  profit,  whatever  may  be  his  mere  erudition,  who  has  not  ab 
sorbed  this  simple  consciousness  and  faith.  It  is  not  entirely 
new — but  it  is  for  America  to  elaborate  it,  and  look  to  build  upon 
and  expand  from  it,  with  uncompromising  reliance.  Above  the 
doors  of  teaching  the  inscription  is  to  appear,  Though  little  or 
nothing  can  be  absolutely  known,  perceived,  except  from  a  point 
of  view  which  is  evanescent,  yet  we  know  at  least  one  perma 
nency,  that  Time  and  Space,  in  the  will  of  God,  furnish  successive 
chains,* completions  of  material  births  and  beginnings,  solve  all 
discrepancies,  fears  and  doubts,  and  eventually  fulfil  happiness — 
and  that  the  prophecy  of  those  births,  namely  Spiritual  results, 
throws  the  true  arch  over  all  teaching,  all  science.  The  local 
considerations  of  sin,  disease,  deformity,  ignorance,  death,  &c., 
and  their  measurement  by  superficial  mind,  and  ordinary  legisla 
tion  and  theology,  are  to  be  met  by  Science,  boldly  accepting, 
promulging  this  faith,  and  planting  the  seeds  of  superber  laws — 
of  the  explication  of  the  physical  universe  through  the  spiritual — 
and  clearing  the  way  for  a  Religion,  sweet  and  unimpugnable 
alike  to  little  child  or  great  savan. 


66  EEMOCEATIC  VISTAS. 

thority,  as  they  are  tho  legitimate  heirs  of  the  known, 
and  of  reality,  and  at  least  as  great  as  their  parents. 
Fearless  of  scoffing,  and  of  the  ostent,  let  us  take  our 
stand,  Q-J.T  ground,^  and  never  desert  it,  to  confront  the 
growing  excess  and  arrogance  of  Realism.  To  the  cry, 
now  victorious — the  cry  of  Ssnse,  science,  flesh,  in 
comes,  farms,  merchandise,  logic,  intellect,  demonstra 
tions,  solid  perpetuities,  buildings  of  brick  and  iron,  or 
even  the  facts  of  the  shows  of  trees,  earth,  rocks,  &c., 
fear  not  my  brethren,  my  sisters,  to  sound  out  with 
equally '  determined  voice,  that  conviction  brooding 
within  the  recesses  of  every  envisioned  soul — Illusions! 
apparitions!  figments  all!  True,  we  must  not  condemn 
the  sthow,  neither  absolutely  deny  it,  for  the  in  dispensa 
bility  of  its  meanings  ;  but  how  clearly  we  see  that, 
migrate  in  soul  to  what  we  can  already  conceive  of  su 
perior  and  spiritual  points  of  view,  and,  palpable  as  it 
seems  under  present  relations,  it  all  and  several  might, 
nay  certainly  would,  fall  apart  and  vanish. 

— I  hail  with  joy  the  oceanic,  variegated,  intense 
practical  energy,  the  demand  for  facts,  even  the  busi 
ness  materialism  of  the  current  age,  Our  States.  But 
wo  to  the  age  or  land  in  which  these  things,  movements, 
stopping  at  themselves,  do  not  tend  to  ideas.  As  fuel 
to  ilame,  and  flame  to  the  heavens,  so  must  wealth, 
science,  materialism,  unerringly  feed  the  highest  mind, 
the  soul.  Infinitude  the  flight :  fathomless  the  mystery. 
Man,  so  diminutive, .  dilates  beyond  the  sensible  uni 
verse,  competes  with,  outcopes  Space  and  Time,  medi 
tating  even  one  great  idea.  Thus,  and  thus  only,  does 
a  human  being,  his  spirit,  ascend  above,  and  justify, 
objective  Nature,  which,  probably  nothing  in  itself,  is 
incredibly  and  divinely  serviceable,  indispensable,  real, 
here.  And  as  the  purport  of  objective  Nature  is  doubt 
less  folded,  hidden,  somewhere  here— As  somewhere 
here  is  what  this  globe  and  its  manifold  forms,  and  the 
light  of  day,  and  night's  darkness,  and  life  itself,  with 
all  its  experiences,  are  for — it  is  here  the  great  Litera 
ture,  especially  verse,  must  get  its  inspiration  and  throb 
bing  blood.  Then  may  we  attain  -to  a  poetry  worthy 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  67 

the  immortal  soul  of  man,  and  which  while  absorbing 
materials,  and,  in  their  own  sense,  the  shows  of  Nature, 
will,  above  all,  have,  both  directly  and  indirectly,  a  free 
ing,  fluidizing,  expanding,  religious  character,  exulting 
with  science,  fructifying  the  moral  elements,  and  stimu 
lating  aspirations,  and  meditations  on  the  unknown. 

The  process,  so  far,  is  indirect  and  peculiar,  and 
though  it  may  be  suggested,  cannot  be  denned.  Ob 
serving,  rapport,  and  with  intuition,  the  shows  and 
forms  presented  by  Nature,  the  sensuous  luxuriance, 
the  beautiful  in  living  men  and  women,  the  actual  play 
of  passions,  in  history  and  life — and,  above  all,  from 
those  developments  either  in  Nature  or  human  person 
ality  in  which  power,  (dearest  of  all  to  the  sense  of  the 
artist,)  transacts  itself — Out  of  these,  and  seizing  what 
.is  in  them,  the  poet,  the  esthetic  worker  in  any  field, 
by  the  divine  magic  of  his  genius,  projects  them,  their 
analogies,  by  curious  removes, 'indirections,  in  Litera 
ture  and  Art.  (No  useless  attempt  to  repeat  the  mate 
rial  creation,  by  daguerreo typing  the  exact  likeness  by 
mortal  mental  means.)  This  is  the  image-making  fac 
ulty,  coping  with  material  creation,  and  rivaling,  almost 
triumphing  over  it.  This  alone,  when  all  the  other  parts 
of  a  specimen  of  literature  or  art  are  ready  and  waiting, 
can  breathe  into  it  the  breath  of  life,  and  endow  it  with 
Identity. 

"The  true  question  to  ask,"  says  the  Librarian  of 
Congress  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Social  Science 
Convention  at  New  York,  October,  1869,  "The  true 
question  to  ask  respecting  a  book,  is,  Has  it  helped  any 
human  Soul  ?"  This  is  the  hint,  statement,  not  only  of 
the  great  Literatus,  his  book,  but  of  every  great  Artist. 

It  may  be  that  all  works  of  art  are  to  be  first  tried  by 
their  art  qualities,  their  image-forming  talent,  and  their 
dramatic,  pictorial,  plot-constructing,  euphonious  and 
other  talents.  Then,  whenever  claiming  to  be  first-class 
works,  they  are  to  be  strictly  and  sternly  tried  by  their 
foundation  in,  and  radiation,  in  the  highest  sense,  and 
always  indirectly,  of  the  ethic  principles,  and  eligibility 
to  free,  arouse,  dilate. 

As  within  the  purposes  of  the  Kosmos,  and  vivifying 


68  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

all  meteorology,  and  all  tlie  congeries  of  the  mineral, 
.vegetable  and  animal  worlds — all  the  physical  growth 
and  development  of  man,  and  all  the  history  of  the  race 
in  politics,  religions,  wars,  &c.,  there  is  a  moral  purpose, 
a  visible  or  invisible  intention,  certainly  underlying  all — 
its  results  and  proof  needing  to  be  patiently  waited  for — 
needing  intuition,  faith,  idiosyncrasy,  to  its  realization, 
which  many,  and  especially  the  intellectual,  do  not  have 
— so  in  the  product,  or  congeries  of  the  product,  of  the 
greatest  Literatus.  This  is  the  last,  profoundest  meas 
ure  and  test  of  a  first-class  literary  or  esthetic  achieve 
ment,  and  when  understood  and  put  in  force  must  fain, 
I  say,  lead  to  works,  books,  nobler  than  any  hitherto 
known.  Lo!  Nature,  (the  only  complete,  actual  poem,) 
existing  calmly  in  the  divine  scheme,  containing  all, 
content,  careless  of  the  criticisms  of  a  day,  or  these 
endless  and  wordy  chatterers.  And  lo!  to  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  soul,  the  permanent  Identity,  the 
thought,  the  something,  before  which  the  magnitude 
even  of  Democracy,  Art,  Literature,  &c.,  dwindles,  be 
comes  partial,  measurable — something  that  fully  satis 
fies,  (which  those  do  not.)  That  something  is  the  All, 
and  the  idea  of  All,  with  the  accompanying  idea  of 
Eternity,  and  of  itself,  the  Soul,  buoyant,  indestructi 
ble,  sailing  space  forever,  visiting  every  region,  as  a 
ship  the  sea.  And'  again  lo!  the  pulsations  in  all 
matter,  all  spirit,  throbbing  forever — the  eternal  beats, 
eternal  systole  and  diastole  of  life  in  things — where- 
from  I  feel  and  know  that  death  is  not  the  ending,  as 
was  thought,  but  rather  the  real  beginning— and  that 
nothing  ever  is  or  can  be  lost,  nor  ever  die,  nor  soul, 
nor  matter. 

— I  say  in  the  future  of  These  States  must  therefore 
arise  Poets  immenser  far,  and  make  great  poems  of 
Death.  The  poems  of  Life  are  great,  but  there  must 
be  the  poems  of  the  purports  of  life,  not  only  in  itself, 
but  beyond  itself.  I  have  eulogized  Homer,  the  sacred 
bards  of  Jewry,  Eschylus,  Juvenal,  Shakespeare,  &c., 
and  acknowledged  their  inestimable  value.  But,  (with 
perhaps  the  exception,  in  some,  not  all  respects,  of  the 
second  mentioned,)  I  say  there  must,  for  future  and 


DEMOCEATTC  VISTAS.  69 

Democratic  purposes,  appear  poets,  (dare  I  to  say  so?) 
of  higher  class  even  than  any  of  those — poets  not  only 
possessed  of  the  religious  fire  and  abandon  of  Isaiah, 
luxuriant  in  the  epic  talent  of  Homer,  or  for  characters 
as  Shakespeare,  but  consistent  with  the  Hegelian  for 
mulas,  and  consistent  "with  modern  science.  America 
needs,  and  the  world  needs,  a  class  of  bards  who  will, 
now  and  ever,  so  link  and  tally  the  rational  physical 
being  of  inan,  with  the  ensembles  of  Time  and  Space, 
and  with  this  vast  and  multiform  show,  Nature,  sur 
rounding  him,  ever  tantalizing  him,  equally  a  part,  and 
yet  not  a  part  of  him,  as  to  essentially  harmonize,  satisfy, 
and  put  at  rest.  Faith,  very  old,  now  scared  away  by 
science,  must  be  restored,  brought  back,  by  the  same 
power  that  caused  her  departure — restored  with  new 
sway,  deeper,  wider,  higher  than  ever.  Surely,  this  uni 
versal  ennui,  this  coward  fear,  this  shudcleiing  at  death, 
these  low,  degrading  views,  are  not  always  to  rule  the 
spirit  pervading  future  society,  as  it  has  the  past,  and 
does  the  present.  What  the  Roman  Lucretius  sought 
most  nobly,  yet  all  too  blindly,  negatively  to  do  for  his 
age  and  its  successors,  must  be  done  positively  by  some 
great  coming  Literatus,  especially  Poet,  who,  while  re 
maining  fully  poet,  will  absorb  whatever  science  indi 
cates,  with  spiritualism,  and  out  of  them,  and  out  of 
his  own  genius,  will  compose  the  great  Poem  of  Death. 
Then  will  man  indeed  confront  Nature,  and  confront 
Time  and  Space,  both  with  science  and  con  amore,  and 
take  his  right  place,  prepared  for  life,  master  of  fortune 
and  misfortune.  And  then  that  which  was  long  wanted 
will  be  supplied,  and  the  ship  that  had  it  not  before  in 
all  her  voyages,  will  have  an  anchor. 

There  are  still  other  standards,  suggestions,  for  pro 
ducts  of  high  literatuses.  That  which  really  balances 
and  conserves  the  social  and  political  world  is  not  so 
much  legislation,  police,  treaties,  and  dread  of  punish 
ment,  as  the  latent  eternal  intuitional  sense,  in  human 
ity,  of  fairness,  manliness,  decorum,  &c.  Indeed,  the 
perennial  regulation,  control  and  oversight,  by  self-sup- 
pliance,  is  sine  qua  non  to  Democracy ;  and  a  highest, 


70  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

widest  aim  of  Democratic  literature  may  well  bo  to 
bring  forth,  cultivate,  brace  and  strengthen  this  sense 
in  individuals  and  society.  A  strong  mastership  of  the 
general  inferior  sell1  by  the  superior  self, -is  to  be  aided, 
secured,  indirectly  but  surely,  by  the  literatus,  in  his 
works,  shaping,  for  individual  or  aggregate  Democracy, 
a  great  passionate  Body,  in  and  along  with  which  goes 
a  great  masterful  Spirit. 

And  still,  providing  for  contingencies,  I  fain  confront 
the  fact,  the  need  of  powerful  native  philosophs  and 
orators  and  bards,  These  States,  as  rallying  points  to 
come,  in  times  of  danger,  and  to  fend  off  ruin  and  de 
fection.  For  history  is  long,  long,  long.  Shift  and  turn 
the  combinations  of  the  statement  as  we  may,  the  prob 
lem  of  the  future  of  America  is  in  certain  respects  as 
dark  as  it  is  vast.  Pride,  competition,  segregation, 
vicious  wilfulness,  and  license  beyond  example,  brood 
already  upon  us.  Unwieldy  and  immense,  who  shall 
hold  in  behemoth?  who  bridle  leviathan ?  Flaunt  it  as 
we  choose,  athwart  and  over  the  roads  of  our  progress 
loom  huge  uncertainty,  and  dreadful,  threatening  gloom. 
It  is  useless  to  deny  it :  Democracy  grows  rankly  up  the 
thickest,  noxious,  deadliest  plants  and  fruits  of  all — 
brings  worse  and  worse  invaders — needs  newer,  larger, 
stronger,  keener  compensations  and  compellers. 

Our  lands,  embracing  so  much,  (embracing  indeed 
the  whole,  rejecting  none,)  hold  in  their  breast  that 
flame  also,  capable  of  consuming  themselves,  consuming 
us  all.  Short  as  the  span  of  our  national  life  has  been, 
already  have  death  and  downfall  crowded  close  upon 
us — and  will  again  crowd  close,  no  doubt,  even  if 
warded  off.  Ages  to  come  may  never  know,  but  I 
know,  how  narrowly,  during  the  late  Secession  war — 
and  more  than  once,  and  more  than  twice  or  thrice — 
our  Nationality,  (wherein  bound  up,  as  in  a  ship  in  a 
storm,  depended,  and  yet  depend,  all  our  best  life,  all 
hope,  all  value,)  just  grazed,  just  by  a  hair  escaped  de 
struction.  Alas!  to  think  of  them!  the  agony  and 
bloody  sweat  of  certain  of  those  hours!  those  cruel, 
sharp,  suspended  crises ! 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  71 

Even  to-day,  amid  these  whirls,  incredible  flippancy, 
the  blind  fury  of  parties,  infidelity,  entire  lack  of  first- 
class  captains  and  leaders,  added  to  the  plentiful  mean 
ness  and  vulgarity  of  the  ostensible  masses— that  prob 
lem,  the  Labor  Question,  beginning  to  open  like  a 
yawning  gulf,  rapidly  widening  every  year  * — what 
prospect  have  we  ?  "We  sail  a  dangerous  sea  of  seeth 
ing  currents,  cross  and'under-currents,  vortices — all  so 
dark,  untried — and  whither  shall  we  turn  ? 
•  It  seems  as  if  the  Almighty  had  spread  before  this 
Nation  charts  of  imperial  destinies,  dazzling  as  the  sun, 
yet  with  lines  of  blood,  and  many  a  deep  intestine  diffi 
culty,  and  human  aggregate  of  cankerous  imperfection, 
— saying,  Lo !  the  roads,  the  only  plans  of  development, 


*  THE  LABOR  QUESTION.— The  immense  problem  of  the  rela 
tion,  adjustment,  conflict,  between  Labor  and  its  status  and  pay, 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  Capital  of  employers  on  the  other  side — 
looming  up  over  These  States  like  an  ominous,  limitless,  murky 
cloud,  perhaps  before  long  to  overshadow  us.  all ; — the  many  thou 
sands  of  decent  working-people,  through  the  cities  and  elsewhere, 
trying  to  keep  up  a  good  appearance,  but  living  by  daily  toil, 
from  hand  to  mouth,  with  nothing  ahead,  and  no  owned  homes — 
the  increasing  aggregation  of  capital  in  the  hands  of  a  few — the 
chaotic  confusion  of  labor  in  the  Southern  States,  consequent  on 
the  abrogation  of  slavery — the  Asiatic  immigration  on  our  Pacific 
side — the  advent  of  new  machinery,  dispensing  more  and  more 
with  hand-work — the  growing,  alarming  spectacle  of  countless 
squads  of  vagabond  children,  roaming  everywhere  the  streets  and 
wharves  of  the  great  cities,  getting  trained  for  thievery  and  pros 
titution — the  hideousness  and  squalor  of  certain  quarters  of  the 
cities — the  advent  of  late  years,  and  increasing  frequency,  of  these 
pompous,  nauseous,  outside  shows  of  vulgar  wrealth — (What  a 
chance  for  a  new  Juvenal !) — wealth  acquired  perhaps  by  some 
quack,  some  measureless  financial  rogue,  triply  brazen  in  impu 
dence,  only  shielding  himself  by  his  money  from  a  shaved  head, 
a  striped  dress,  and  a  felon's  cell ; — and  then,  below  all,  the  plausi 
ble,  sugar-coated,  but  abnormal  and  sooner  or  later  inevitably 
ruinous  delusion  and  loss,  of  our  system  of  inflated  paper-money 
currency,  (cause  of  all  conceivable  swindles,  false  standards  of 
value,  and  principal  breeder  and  bottom  of  those  enormous  for 
tunes  for  the  few,  and  of  poverty  for  the  million) — with  that  other 
plausible  and  sugar-coated  delusion,  the  theory  and  practice  of  a 
protective  tariff,  still  clung  to  by  many  ; — such,  with  plenty  more, 
stretching  themselves  through  many  a  long  year,  for  solution, 
stand  as  huge  impedimenta  of  America's  progress. 


72  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

long,  and  varied  with  all  terrible  balks  and  ebullitions. 
You  said  in  your  soul,  I  will  be  empire  of  empires,  over 
shadowing  all  else,  past  and  present,  putting  the  his 
tory  of  old-world  dynasties,  conquests,  behind  me,  as 
of  no  account — making  a  new  history,  the  history  of 
Democracy,  making  old  history  a  dwarf — I  alone  in 
augurating  largeness,  culminating  Time.  If  these,  O 
lands  of  America,  are  indeed  the  prizes,  the  determina 
tions  of  your  Soul,  be  it  so.  But  behold  the  cost,  and 
already  specimens  of  the  cost.  Behold,  the  anguish  o! 
suspense,  existence  itself  wavering  in  the  balance,  un 
certain  whether  to  rise  or  fall ;  already,  close  behind 
you  or  around  you,  thick  winrows  of  corpses  on  battle 
fields,  countless  maimed  and  sick  in  hospitals,  treachery 
among  Generals,  folly  in  the  Executive  and  Legislative 
departments,  schemers,  thieves  everywhere — cant,  cre 
dulity,  make-believe  everywhere.  Thought  you  great 
ness  was  to  ripen  for  you,  like  a  pear  ?  If  you  would 
have  greatness,  know  that  you  must  conquer  it  through 
ages,  centuries — must  pay  for  it  with  a  proportionate 
price.  For  you  too,  as  for  all  lands,  the  struggle,  the 
traitor,  the  wily  person  in  office,  scrofulous  wealth,  the 
surfeit  of  prosperity,  the  demonism  of  greed,  the  hell 
ot  passion,  the  decay  of  faith,  the  long  postponement, 
the  fossil-like  lethargy,  the  ceaseless  need  of  revolu 
tions,  prophets,  thunderstorms,  deaths,  births,  new  pro 
jections  and  invigorations  of  ideas  and  men. 

Yet  I  have  dreamed,  merged  in  that  hidden-tangled 
problem  of  our  fate,  whose  long  unraveling  stretches 
mysteriously  through  time — dreamed  out,  portrayed, 
hinted  already — a  little  or  a  larger  Band — a  band  of 
brave  and  true,  unprecedented  yet — armed  and  equipt 
at  every  point — the  members  separated,  it  may  be,  by 
different  dates  and  States,  or  south,  or  north,  or  east, 
or  west — Pacific  or  Atlantic — a  year,  a  century  here, 
and  other  centuries  there — but  always  one,  compact  in 
Soul,  conscience-conserving,  God-inculcating,  inspired 
achievers,  not  only  in  Literature,  the  greatest  art,  but 
achievers  in  all  art— a  new,  undying  order,  dynasty, 
from  age  to  age  transmitted — &  band,  a  class,  at  least 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  73 

as  fit  to  cope  with  current  years,  our  dangers,  needs,  as 
those  who,  for  their  times,  so  long,  so  well,  in  armor 
or  in  cowl,  upheld,  and  made  illustrious,  the  Feudal, 
priestly  world.  To  offset  Chivalry,  indeed,  those  van 
ished  countless  knights,  and  the  old  altars,  abbeys,  all 
their  priests,  ages  and  strings  of  ages,  a  knightlier  and 
more  sacred  cause  to-day  demands,  and  shall  supply,  in 
a  New  World,  to  larger,  grander  work,  more  than  the 
counterpart  and  tally  of  them. 

Arrived  now,  definitely,  at  an  apex  for  These  Vistas, 
I  confess  that  the  promulgation  and  belief  in  such  a 
class  or  institution — a  new  and  greater  Literatus  Order 
— its  possibility,  (nay  certainty,)  underlies  these  entire 
speculations — and  that  the  rest,  the  other  parts,  as 
superstructures,  are  all  founded  upon  it.  It  really 
seems  to  me  the  condition,  not  only  of  our  future  na 
tional  development,  hut  of  our  perpetuation.  In  the 
highly  artificial  and  materialistic  bases  of  modern  civili 
zation,  with  the  corresponding  arrangements  and 
methods  of  living,  the  force-infusion  of  intellect  alone, 
the  depraving  influences  of  riches  just  as  much  as  pov 
erty,  the  absence  of  all  high  ideals  in  character — with 
the  long  series  of  tendencies,  shapings,  which  few  are 
strong  enough  to  resist,  and  which  now  seem,  with 
steam-engine  speed,  to  be  everywhere  turning  out  the 
generations  of  humanity  like  uniform  iron  castings — all 
of  which,  as  compared  with  the  Feudal  ages,  we  can 
yet  do  nothing  better  than  accept,  make  the  best  of, 
and  even  welcome,  upon  the  whole,  for  their  oceanic 
practical  grandeur,  and  their  restless  wholesale  knead 
ing  of  the  masses — I  say  of  all  this  tremendous  and 
dominant  play  of  solely  materialistic  bearings  upon 
current  life  in  the  United  States,  with  the  results  as 
already  seen,  accumulating,  and  reaching  far  into  the 
future,  that  they  must  either  be  confronted  and  met  by 
at  least  an  equally  subtle  and  tremendous  force=infusion 
for  purposes  of  Spiritualization,  for  the  pure  conscience, 
for  genuine  esthetics,  and  for  absolute  and  primal  Man 
liness  and  Womanliness — or  else  our  modern  civiliza 
tion,  with  all  its  improvements,  is  in  vain,  and  we  are 
4 


74  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

on  the  road  to  a  destiny,  a  status,  equivalent,  in  this 
real  world,  to  that  of  the  fabled  damned. 

—To  furnish,  therefore,  something  like  escape  and 
foil  and  remedy — to  restrain,  with  gentle  but  sufficient 
hand,  the  terrors  of  materialistic,  intellectual,  and  demo 
cratic  civilization — to  ascend  to  more  ethereal,  yet  just 
as  real,  atmospheres — to  invoke  and  set  forth  ineffable 
portraits  of  Personal  Perfection,  (the  true,  final  aim  of 
all,)  I  say  rny  eyes  are  fain  to  behold,  though  with 
straining  sight — and  my  spirit  to  prophecy — far  down 
the  vistas  of  These  States,  that  Order,  Class,  superber, 
far  more  efficient  than  any  hitherto,  arising.  I  say  we 
must  enlarge  and  entirely  recast  the  theory  of  noble 
authorship,  and  conceive  and  put  up  as  our  model,  a 
Literatus — groups,  series  of  Literatnses — not  only  con 
sistent  with  modern  science,  practical,  political,  full  of 
the  arts,  of  highest  erudition — not  only  possessed  by, 
and  possessors  of,  Democracy  even — but  with  the  equal 
of  the  burning  fire  and  extasy  of  Conscience,  which  have 
brought  down  to  us,  over  and  through  the  centuries, 
that  chain  of  old  unparalleled  Judean  prophets,  with 
their  flashes  of  power,  wisdom,  and  poetic  beauty,  law 
less  as  lightning,  indefinite — yet  power,  wisdom,  beauty, 
above  all  mere  art,  and  surely,  in  some  respects,  above 
all  else  we  know  'of  mere  literature. 

Prospecting  thus  the  coming  unsped  days,  and  that 
new  Order  in  them — marking  the  endless  train  of  exer 
cise,  development,  unwind,  in  Nation  as  in  man,  which 
life  is  for — we  now  proceed  to  note,  aa  on  the  hopeful 
terraces  or  platforms  of  our  history,  to  be  enacted,  not 
only  amid  peaceful  growth,  but  amid  all  perturbations, 
and  after  not  a  few  departures,  filling  the  vistas  then, 
certain  most  coveted,  stately  arrivals. 

— A  few  years,  and  there  will  be  an  appropriate  na 
tive  grand  Opera,  the  lusty  and  wide-lipp'd  offspring  of 
Italian  methods.  Yet  it  will  be  no  mere  imitation,  nor 
follow  precedents,  any  more  than  Nature  follows  prece 
dents.  Vast  oval  halls  will  be  constructed,  on  acoustic 
principles,  in  cities,  where  companies  of  musicians  will 
perform  lyrical  pieces,  born  to  the  people  of  These 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  75 

States  ;  and  the  people  will  make  perfect  music  a  part 
of  their  live?.  Every  phase,  every  trade  will  have  its 
songs,  beautifying  those  trades.  Men  on  the  land  will 
have  theirs,  and  men  on  the  water  theirs.  "Who  now  is 
ready  to  begin  that  work  for  America,  of  composing 
music  fit  for  us — songs,  choruses,  symphonies,  operas, 
oratorios,  fully  identified  with  the  body  and  soul  of  The 
States  t  music  complete  in  all  its  appointments,  but  in 
some  fresh,  courageous,  melodious,  undeniable  styles — 
as  all  that  is  ever  to  permanently  satisfy  us  must  be. 
The  composers  to  make  such  music  are  to  learn  every 
thing  that  can  be  possibly  learned  in  the  schools  and 
traditions  of  their  art,  and  then  calmly  dismiss  all  tradi 
tions  from  them. 

Also,  a  great  breed  of  orators  will  one  day  spread 
over  The  United  States,  and  be  continued.  Blessed  are 
the  people  where,  (the  nation's  Unity  and  Identity  pre 
served  at  all  hazards,)  strong  emergencies,  throes,  occur. 
Strong  emergencies  will  continually  occur  in  America, 
and  will  be  provided  for.  Such  orators  are  wanted  as 
have  never  yet  been  heard  upon  the  earth.  What  speci 
men  have  we  had  where  even  the  physical  capacities  of 
the  voice  have  been  fully  accomplished  ?  I  think  there 
would  be  in  the  human  voice,  thoroughly  practised  and 
brought  out,  more  seductive  pathos  than  in 'any  organ 
or  any  orchestra  of  stringed  instruments,  and  a  ring 
more  impressive  than  that  of  artillery. 

Also,  in  a  few  years,  there  will  be,  in  the  cities  of 
These  States,  immense  Museums,  with  suites  of  halls, 
containing  samples  and  illustrations  from  all  the  places 
and  peoples  of  the  earth,  old  and  new.  In  these  halls, 
in  the  presence  of  these  illustrations,  the  noblest  s.avans 
will  deliver  lectures  to  thousands  of  young  men  and 
women,  on  history,  natural  history,  the  sciences,  &c. 
History  itself  will  get  released  from  being  that  false 
and  distant  thing,  that  fetish  it  has  been.  It  will  be 
come  a  friend,  a  venerable  teacher,  a  live  being,  with 
hands,  voice,  presence.  It  will  be  disgraceful  to  a 
young-  person  not  to  know  chronology,  geography, 
poems,  heroes,  deeds,  and  all  the  former  nations,  and 


76  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

present  ones  also — and  it  will  be  disgraceful  in  a  teacher 
to  teach  any  less  or  more  than  he  believes. 

—We  see,  fore-indicated,  amid  these  prospects  and 
hopes,  new  law-forces  of  spoken  and  written  language 
—not  merely  the  pedagogue-forms,  correct,  regular, 
familiar  with  precedents,  made  for  matters  of  outside 
propriety,  fine  words,  thoughts  definitely  told  out — but 
a  language  fanned  by  the  breath  of  Nature,  which  leaps 
overhead,  cares  mostly  for  impetus  and  effects,  and  for 
what  it  plants  and  invigorates  to  grow — tallies  life  and 
character,  and  seldomer  tells  a  thing  than  suggests  or 
necessitates  it.  In  fact,  a  new  theory  of  literary  compo 
sition  for  imaginative  works  of  the  very  first  class,  and 
especially  for  highest  poems,  is  the  sole  course  open  to 
These  States. 

Books  are  to  be  called  for,  and  supplied,  on  the  as 
sumption  that  the  process  of  reading  is  not  a  half-sleep, 
but,  in  highest  sense,  an  exercise,  a  gymnast's  struggle  ; 
that  the  reader  is  to  do  something  for  himself,  must  be 
on  the  alert,  must  himself  or  herself  construct  indeed 
the  poem,  argument,  history,  metaphysical  essay — the 
text  furnishing  the  hints,  the  clue,  the  start  or  frame 
work.  Not  the  book  needs  so  much  to  be  the  complete 
thing,  but  the  reader  of  the  book  does.  That  were  to 
make  a  nation  of  supple  and  athletic  minds,  well- 
trained,  intuitive,  used  to  depend  on  themselves,  and 
not  on  a  few  coteries  of  writers. 

— Investigating  here,  we  see,  not  that  it  is  a  little 
thing  we  have,  in  having  the  bequeathed  libraries, 
countless  shelves  of  volumes,  records,  &c. ;  yet  how 
serious  the  danger,  depending  entirely  on  them,  of  tho 
bloodless  vein,  the  nerveless  arm,  the  false  application, 
at  second  or  third  hand.  After  all,  we  see  Life,  not 
bred,  (at  least  in  its  more  modern  and  essential  parts,) 
in  those  great  old  Libraries,  nor  America  nor  Democ 
racy  favored  nor  applauded  there.  We  see  that  tho 
real  interest  of  this  People  of  burs  in  the  Theology, 
History,  Poetry,  Politics,  and  Personal  Models  of  the 
past,  (the  British  islands,  for  instance,  and  indeed  all 
the  past,)  is  not  necessarily  to  mould  ourselves  or  our 
literature  upon  them,  but  to  attain  fuller,  more  definite 


DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS.  77 

comparisons,  warnings,  and  the  insight  to  ourselves, 
our  own  present,  and  our  own  far  grander,  different, 
future  history,  Religion,  social  customs,  &c. 

— We  see  that  almost  everything  that  has  been 
written,  sung,  or  stated,  of  old,  with  reference  to  hu 
manity  under  the  Feudal  and  Oriental  institutes,  reli 
gions,  and  for  other  lands,  needs  to  be  re-written,  re- 
sung,  re-stated,  in  terms  consistent  with  the  institution 
of  These  States,  and  to  come  in  range  and  obedient 
uniformity  with  them. 

We  see,  as  in  the  universes  of  the  material  Kosmos, 
after  meteorological,  vegetable,  and  animal  cycles,  man 
at  last  arises,  born  through  them,  to  prove  them,  con 
centrate  them,  to  turn  upon  them  with  wonder  and 
love — to  command  them,  adorn  them,  and  carry  them 
upward  into  superior  realms — so  out  of  the  series  of 
the  preceding  social  and  political  universes,  now  arise 
These  States — their  main  purport  being  not  in  the  new 
ness  and  importance  of  their  politics  or  inventions,  but 
in  new,  grander,  more  advanced  Religions,  Literatures, 
and  Art. 

We  see  that  while  many  were  supposing  things  estab 
lished  and  completed,  really  the  grandest  things  always 
remain  ;  and  discover  that  the  worli  of  the  New  World 
is  not  ended,  but  only  fairly  begun. 

We  see  our  land,  America,  her  Literature,  Esthetics, 
&c.,  as,  substantially,  the  getting  in  form,  or  effusement 
and  statement,  of  deepest  basic  elements  and  loftiest 
final  meanings,  of  History  and  Man — and  the  portrayal, 
(under  the  eternal  laws  and  conditions  of  beauty,)  of 
our  own  physiognomy,  the  subjective  tie  and  expression 
of  the  objective,  as  from,  our  own  combination,  continu 
ation  and  points  of  view — and  the  deposit  and  record  of 
the  national  mentality,  character,  appeals,  heroism, 
wars,  and  even  liberties — where  these,  and  all,  culmi 
nate  in  native  formulation,  to  be  perpetuated ; — and 
not  having  which  native,  first-class  formulation,  she 
will  flounder  about,  and  her  other,  however  imposing, 
eminent  greatness,  prove  merely  a  passing  gleam  ;  but 
truly  having  which,  she  will  understand  herself,  live 
nobly,  nobly  contribute,  emanate,  and,  swinging,  poised 


78  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

safely  on  herself,  illumined  and  illuming,  become  a  full- 
formed  world,  and  divine  Mother  not  only  of  material 
but  spiritual  worlds,  in  ceaseless  succession  through 
Time. 

Finally,  we  have  to  admit,  we  see,  even  to-day,  and 
in  all  these  things,  the  born  Democratic  taste  and  will 
of  The  United  States,  regardless  of  precedent,  or  of  any 
authority  but  their  own,  beginning  to  arrive,  seeking 
place — which,  in  due  time,  they  will  fully  occupy.  At 
tirst,  of  course,  under  current  prevalences  of  theology, 
conventions,  criticism,  &c.,  all  appears  impracticable — 
takes  chances  to  be  denied  and  misunderstood.  There 
with,  of  course,  murmurers,  puzzled  persons,  supercil 
ious  inquirers,  (with  a  mighty  stir  and  noise  among 
these  windy  little  gentlemen  that  swarm  in  literature, 
in  the  magazines.)  But  America,  advancing  steadily, 
evil  as  well  as  good,  penetrating  deep,  without  one 
thought  of  retraction,  ascending,  expanding,  keeps  her 
course,  hundreds,  thousands  of  years. 


GENEKAL    NOTES. 


"  SOCIETY." — I  have  myself  little  or  no  hope  from  what  is 
technically  called  "  Society  "  in  our  American  cities.  New  York, 
of  which  place  I  have  spoken  so  sharply,  still  promises  something, 
in  time,  out  of  its  tremendous  and  varied  materials,  with  a  certain 
superiority  of  intuitions,  and  the  advantage  of  constant  agitation, 
and  ever  new  and  rapid  dealings  of  the  cards.  Of  Boston,  with 
its  circles  of  social  mummies,  swathed  in  cerements  harder  than 
brass — its  bloodless  religion,  (Unitarianism,)  its  complacent  vanity 
of  scientism  and  literature,  lots  of  grammatical  correctness,  mere 
knowledge,  (always  wearisome,  in  itself )— its  zealous  abstractions, 
ghosts  of  reforms — I  should  say,  (ever  admitting  its  business 
powers,  its  sharp,  almost  demoniac,  intellect,  and  no  lack,  in  its 
own  way,  of  courage  and  generosity) — there  is,  at  present,  little  of 
cheering,  satisfying  sign.  In  the  West,  California,  &c.,  "  society  " 
is  yet  unformed,  puerile,  seemingly  unconscious  of  anything  above 
a  driving  business,  or  to  liberally  spend  the  money  made  by  it  in 
the  usual  rounds  and  shows. 

Then  there  is,  to  the  humorous  observer  of  American  attempts 
at  fashion,  according  to  the  models  of  foreign  courts  and  saloons, 
quite  a  comic  side— particularly  visible  at  Washington  City, — a 
sort  of  high  life  below  stairs  business.  As  if  any  farce  could  be 
funnier,  for  instance,  than  the  scenes  of  the  crowds,  winter  nights, 
meandering  around  our  Presidents  and  their  wives,  Cabinet 
officers,  western  or  other  Senators,  Representatives,  &c.;  born  of 
good  laboring,  mechanic,  or  farmer  stock  and  antecedents,  attempt 
ing  those  full-dress  receptions,  finesse  of  parlors,  foreign  ceremo 
nies,  etiquettes,  &c. 

Indeed,  considered  with  any  sense  of  propriety,  or  any  sense  at 
all,  the  whole  of  this  illy-played  fashionable  play  and  display, 
with  their  absorption  of  the  best  part  of  our  wealthier  citizens' 
time,  money,  energies,  &c.,  is  ridiculously  out  of  place  in  the 
United  States.  As  if  our  proper  man  and  woman,  (far,  far  greater 
words  than  "  gentleman  "  and  "  lady,")  could  still  fail  to  see,  and 
presently  achieve,  not  this  spectral  business,  but  something  truly 
noble,  active,  sane,  American — by  modes,  perfections  of  character, 
manners,  costumes,  social  relations,  &c.,  adjusted  to  standards,  far, 
far  different  from  those ! 


80  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

— Eminent  and  liberal  foreigners,  British  or  continental,  must 
at  times  have  their  faith  fearfully  tried  by  what  they  see  of  our 
New  World  personalities.  The  shallowest  and  least  American 
persons  seem  surest  to  push  abroad  and  call  without  fail  on  well- 
known  foreigners,  who  are  doubtless  affected  with  indescribable 
qualms  by  these  queer  ones.  Then,  more  than  half  of  our  authors 
and  writers  evidently  think  it  a  great  thing  to  be  "  aristocratic," 
and  sneer  at  progress,  democracy,  revolution,  &c.  If  some  inter 
national  literary  Snobs'  Gallery  were  established,  it  is  certain  that 
America  could  contribute  at  least  her  full  share  of  the  portraits, 
and  some  very  distinguished  ones.  Observe  that  the  most  impu 
dent  slanders,  low  insults,  &c.,  on  the  great  revolutionary  authors, 
leaders,  poets,  &c.,  of  Europe,  have  their  origin  and  main  circiila- 
tion  in  certain  circles  here.  The  treatment  of  Victor  Hugo  living, 
and  Byron  dead,  are  samples.  Both  deserving  so  well  of  America ; 
and  both  persistently  attempted  to  be  soiled  here  by  unclean  birds, 
male  and  female. 

— Meanwhile,  I  must  still  offset  the  like  of  the  foregoing,  and 
all  it  infers,  by  the  recognition  of  the  fact,  that  while  the  surfaces 
of  current  society  here  show  so  much  that  is  dismal,  noisome  and 
vapory,  there  are,  beyond  question,  inexhaustible  supplies,  as  of 
true  gold  ore,  in  the  mines  of  America's  general  humanity.  Let 
us,  not  ignoring  the  dross,  give  fit  stress  to  these  precious,  im 
mortal  values  also.  Let  it  be  distinctly  admitted,  that — whatever 
may  be  said  of  our  fashionable  society,  and  of  any  foul  fractions 
and  episodes — only  here  in  America,  out  of  the  long  history,  and 
manifold  presentations  of  the  ages,  has  at  last  arisen,  and  now 
stands,  what  never  before  took  positive  form  and  sway,  THE 
PEOPLE — and  that,  viewed  en-masse,  and  while  fully  acknowl 
edging  deficiencies,  dangers,  faults,  this  People,  inchoate,  latent, 
not  yet  come  to  majority,  nor  to  its  own  religious,  literary  or 
esthetic  expression,  yet  affords,  to-day,  an  exultant  justification  of 
all  the  faith,  all  the  hopes  and  prayers  and  prophecies  of  good 
men  through  the  past — the  stablest,  solidest-based  government 
of  the  world — the  most  assured  in  a  future — the  beaming  Pharos 
to  whose  perennial  light  all  earnest  eyes,  the  world  over,  are 
tending — And  that  already,  in  and  from  it,  the  Democratic  prin 
ciple,  having  been  mortally  tried  by  severest  tests,  fatalities,  of 
war  and  peace,  now  issues  from  the  trial,  unharmed,  trebly-in 
vigorated,  perhaps  to  commence  forthwith  its  finally  triumphant 
march  around  the  globe. 

BRITISH  LITERATURE. — To  avoid  mistake,  I  would  say  that  I 
not  only  commend  the  study  of  this  literature,  but  wish  our 
sources  of  supply  and  comparison  vastly  enlarged.  American 
students  may  well  derive  from  all  former  lands — from  forenoon 
Greece  and  Borne,  down  to  the  perturbed  medieval  times,  the 
Crusades,  and  so  to  Italy,  the  German  intellect — all  the  older  lit 
eratures,  and  all  the  newer  ones — from  witty  and  warlike  France, 
and  markedly,  and  in  many  ways,  and  at  many  different  periods, 


GENERAL  NOTES.  81 

from  the  enterprise  and  soul  of  the  great  Spanish  race — bearing 
ourselves  always  courteous,  always  deferential,  indebted  beyond 
measure  to  the  mother-world,  to  all  its  nations  dead,  as  all  its  na 
tions  living — the  offspring,  this  America  of  ours,  the  Daughter, 
not  by  any  means  of  the  British  isles  exclusively,  but  of  the  Con 
tinent,  and  all  continents.  Indeed,  it  is  time  we  should  realize 
and  fully  fructify  those  germs  we  also  hold  from  Italy,  France, 
Spain,  especially  in  the  best  imaginative  productions  of  those 
lands,  which  are,  in  many  ways,  loftier  and  subtler  than  the  Eng 
lish,  or  British,  and  indispensable  to  complete  our  service,  propor 
tions,  education,  reminiscences,  &c The  British  element  These 

States  hold,  and  have  always  held,  enormously  beyond  its  fit  pro 
portions.  I  have  already  spoken  of  Shakespeare.  He  seems  to 
me  of  astral  genius,  first  class,  entirely  fit  for  feudalism.  His 
contributions,  especially  to  the  literature  of  the  passions,  are  im 
mense,  forever  dear  to  humanity — and  his  name  is  always  to  be 
reverenced  in  America.  But  there  is  much  in  him  that  is  offen 
sive  to  Democracy.  He  is  not  only  the  tally  of  Feudalism,  but  I 
should  say  Shakespeare  is  incarnated,  uncompromising  Feudal 
ism,  in  literature.  Then  one  seems  to  detect  something  in  him — • 
I  hardly  know  how  to  describe  it — even  amid  the  dazzle  of  his 
genius;  and,  in  inferior  manifestations,  it  is  found  in  nearly  all 
leading  British  authors.  (Perhaps  we  will  have  to  import  the 
words  Snob,  Snobbish,  &c.,  after  all.)  While  of  the  great  poems 
of  Asian  antiquity,  the  Indian  epics,  the  Book  of  Job,  the  Ionian 
Iliad,  the  unsurpassedly  simple,  loving,  perfect  idyls  of  the  life 
and  death  of  Christ,  in  the  New  Testament,  (indeed  Homer  and 
the  Biblical  utterances  intertwine  familiarly  with  us,  in  the  main,) 
and  along  down,  of  most  of  the  characteristic  imaginative  or  ro 
mantic  relics  of  the  continent,  as  the  Cid,  Cervantes'  Don  Quixote, 
&c.,  I  should  say  they  substantially  adjust  themselves  to  us,  and, 
far  off  as  they  are,  accord  curiously  with  our  bed  and  board,  to 
day,  in  1870,  in  Brooklyn,  Washington,  Canada,  Ohio,  Texas, 
California — and  with  our  notions,  both  of  seriousness  and  of  fun, 
and  our  standards  of  heroism,  manliness,  and  even  the  Democratic 
requirements — those  requirements  are  not  only  not  fulfilled  in  the 
Shakesperean  productions,  but  are  insulted  on  every  page. 

I  add  that — while  England  is  among  the  greatest  of  lands  in 
political  freedom,  or  the  idea  of  it,  and  in  stalwart  personal  char 
acter,  &c. — the  spirit  of  English  literature  is  not  great,  at  least  is 
not  greatest— and  its  products  are  no  models  for  us.  With  the 
exception  of  Shakespeare,  there  is  no  first-class  genius,  or  ap 
proaching  to  first-class,  in  that  literature — which,  with  a  truly 
vast  amount  of  value,  and  of  artificial  beauty,  (largely  from  the 
classics,)  is  almost  always  material,  sensual,  not  spiritual — almost 
always  congests,  makes  plethoric,  not  frees,  expands,  dilates — is 
cold,  anti-Democratic,  loves  to  be  sluggish  and  stately,  and  shows 
much  of  that  characteristic  of  vulgar  persons,  the  dread  of  saying 
or  doing  something  not  at  all  improper  in  itself,  but  unconven 
tional,  and  that  may  be  laughed  at.  In  its  best,  the  sombre  per- 


82  DEMOCBATIC  VISTAS. 

vadcs  it ; — it  is  moody,  melancholy,  and,  to  give  it  its  due,  ex 
presses,  in  characters  and  plots,  those  qualities,  in  an  unrivaled 
manner.  Yet  not  as  the  black  thunderstorms,  and  in  great  nor 
mal,  crashing  passions,  as  of  the  Greek  dramatists — clearing  the 
air,  refreshing  afterward,  bracing  with  power ;  but  as  in  Hamlet, 
moping,  sick,  uncertain,  and  leaving  ever  after  a  secret  taste  for 

the  blues,  the  morbid  fascination,  the  luxury  of  wo (I  cannot 

dismiss  English,  or  British  imaginative  literature  without  the 
cheerful  name  of  Walter  Scott.  In  my  opinion  he  deserves  to 
stand  next  to  Shakespeare.  Both  are,  in  their  best  and  absolute 
quality,  continental,  not  British— both  teeming,  luxuriant,  true  to 
their  lands  and  origin,  namely  feudality,  yet  ascending  into  uni- 
versalism.  Then,  I  should  say,  both  deserve  to  be  finally  consid 
ered  and  construed  as  shining  suns,  whom  it  were  ungracious  to 
pick  spots  upon.) 

I  strongly  recommend  all  the  young  men  and  young  women  of 
the  United  States  to  whom  it  may  be  eligible,  to  overhaul  the 
well-freighted  fleets,  the  literatures  of  Italy,  Spain,  France,  Ger 
many,  so  full  of  those  elements  of  freedom,  self  possession,  gay- 
heartedness,  subtlety,  dilation,  needed  in  preparations  for  the 
future  of  The  States.  I  only  wish  we  could  have  really  good 
translations.  I  rejoice  at  the  feeling  for  Oriental  researches  and 
poetry,  and  hope  it  will  go  on. 

THE  LATE  WAR.— The  Secession  War  in  the  United  States 
appears  to  me  as  the  last  great  material  and  military  outcropping 
of  the  Feudal  spirit,  in  our  New  World  history,  society,  &c. 
Though  it  was  not  certain,  hardly  probable,  that  the  effort  for 
founding  a  Slave-Holding  power,  by  breaking  up  the  Union, 
should  be  successful,  it  was  urged  on  by  indomitable  passion, 
pride  and  will.  The  signal  downfall  of  this  effort,  the  abolition 
of  Slavery,  and  the  extirpation  of  the  Shareholding  Class,  (cut 
out  and  thrown  away  like  a  tumor  by  surgical  operation,)  makes 
incomparably  the  longest  advance  for  Radical  Democracy,  utterly 
removing  its  only  really  dangerous  impediment,  and  insuring  its 
progress  in  the  United  States — and  thence,  of  course,  over  the 

world (Our  immediate  years  witness  the  solution  of  three  vast, 

life-threaten  ing  calculi,  in  different  parts  of  the  world — the  removal 
of  serfdom  in  Russia,  slavery  in  the  United  States,  and  of  the 
meanest  of  Imperialisms  in  France.) 

Of  the  Secession  War  itself,  we  know,  in  the  ostent,  what  has 
been  done.  The  numbers  of  the  dead  and  wounded  can  bo  told, 
or  approximated,  the  debt  posted  and  put  on  record,  the  material 
events  narrated,  &c.  Meantime,  the  war  being  over,  elections  go 
on,  laws  are  passed,  political  parties  struggle,  issue  their  plat 
forms,  &c.,  just  the  same  as  before.  But  immensest  results  of  the 
War — not  only  in  Politics,  but  in  Literature,  Poems,  and  Sociol 
ogy — are  doubtless  waiting  yet  unformed,  in  the  future.  How 
long  they  will  wait  I  cannot  tell.  The  pageant  of  History's 
retrospect  shows  us,  ages  since,  all  Europe  marching  on  the  Cm- 


GENERAL  NOTES.  83 

sadcs,  those  wondrous  armed  uprisings  of  tlic  People,  stirred  by 
a  mere  idea,  to  grandest  attempt — and,  when  once  baffled  in  it, 
returning,  at  intervals,  twice,  thrice,  and  again.  An  unsurpassed 
series  of  revolutionary  events,  influences.  Yet  it  took  over  two 
hundred  years  for  the  seeds  of  the  Crusades  to  germinate  before 
beginning  even  to  sprout.  Two  hundred  years  they  lay,  sleeping, 
not  dead,  but  dormant  in  the  ground.  Then,  out  of  them,  un 
erringly,  arts,  travel,  navigation,  politics,  literature,  freedom,  in 
ventions,  the  spirit  of  adventure,  inquiry,  all  arose,  grew,  and 
steadily  sped  on  to  what  we  see  at  present.  Far  back  there,  that 
huge  agitation-struggle  of  the  Crusades,  stands,  as  undoubtedly 
the  embryo,  the  start,  of  the  high  preeminence  of  experiment, 
civilization  and  enterprise  which  the  European  nations  have  since 
sustained,  and  of  which  These  States  are  the  heirs. 

GENERAL  SUFFRAGE,  ELECTIONS,  &c. — It  still  remains  doubtful 
to  me  whether  these  will  ever  secure,  officially,  the  best  wit  and 
capacity — whether,  through  them,  the  first-class  genius  of  America 
will  ever  personally  appear  in  the  high  political  stations,  the  Presi 
dency,  Congress,  the  leading  State  offices,  &c.  Those  offices,  or 
the  candidacy  for  them,  arranged,  won,  by  caucusing,  money,  the 
favoritism  or  pecuniary  interest  of  rings,  the  superior  manipula 
tion  of  the  ins  over  the  outs,  or  the  outs  over  the  ins,  are,  indeed, 
at  best,  the  mere  business  agencies  of  the  people,  are  useful  as 
formulating,  neither  the  best  and  highest,  but  the  average  of  the 
public  judgment,  sense,  justice,  (or  sometimes  want  of  judgment, 
sense,  justice.)  We  elect  Presidents,  Congressmen,  &c.,  not  so 
much  to  have  them  consider  and  decide  for  us,  but  as  surest  prac 
tical  means  of  expressing  the  will  of  majorities  on  mooted  ques 
tions,  measures,  &c. 

As  to  general  suffrage,  after  all,  since  we  have  gone  so  far,  the 
more  general  it  is,  the  better.  I  favor  the  widest  opening  of  the 
doors.  Let  the  ventilation  and  area  be  wide  enough,  and  all  is 
safe.  We  can  never  have  a  born  penitentiary-bird,  or  panel-thief, 
or  lowest  gambling-hell  or  groggery  keeper,  for  President — though 
such  may  not  only  emulate,  but  get,  high  offices  from  localities — 
even  from  the  proud  and  wealthy  city  of  New  York. 

STATE  RIGIITS. — Freedom,  (under  the  universal  laws,)  and  the 
fair  and  uncramped  play  of  Individuality,  can  only  be  had  at  all 
through  strong-knit  cohesion,  identity.  There  are,  who,  talking 
of  the  rights  of  The  States,  as  in  separatism  and  independence, 
condemn  a  rigid  nationality,  centrality.  But  to  my  mind,  the 
freedom,  as  the  existence  at  all,  of  The  States,  pre-necessitates 
such  a  Nationality,  an  imperial  Union.  Thus,  it  is  to  serve  sepa 
ratism  that  we  favor  generalization,  consolidation.  It  is  to  give, 
under  the  compaction  of  potent  general  law,  an  independent 
vitality  and  sway  within  their  spheres,  to  The  States  singly, 
(really  just  as  important  a  part  of  our  scheme  as  the  sacred 
Union  itself,)  that  we  insist  on  the  preservation  of  cur  Nation- 


84  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 

ality  forever,  and  at  all  hazards.  I  say  neither  States,  nor  any- 
thing  like  State  Rights,  could  permanently  exist  on  any  other 
terms. 

LATEST  FROM  EUROPE. — As  I  send  my  last  pages  to  press, 
(Sept.  19,  1870,)  the  ocean-cable,  continuing-  its  daily  budget  of 
Franco-German  war-news — Louis  Napoleon  a  prisoner,  (his  rat- 
cunning  at  an  end) — the  conquerors  advanced  on  Paris — the 
French,  assuming  Republican  forms — seeking  to  negotiate  with 
the  King  of  Prussia,  at  the  head  of  his  armies — "  his  Majesty," 
says  the  despatch,  "refuses  to  treat,  on  any  terms,  with  a  govern 
ment  risen  out  of  Democracy." 

Let  us  note  the  words,  and  not  forget  them.  The  official  rela 
tions  of  Our  States,  we  know,  are  with  the  reigning  kings,  queens, 
&c.,  of  the  Old  World.  But  the  only  deep,  vast,  emotional,  real 
affinity  of  America  is  with  the  cause  of  Popular  Government 
there — and  especially  in  France.  0  that  I  could  express,  in  my 
printed  lines,  the  passionate  yearnings,  the  pulses  of  sympathy, 
forever  throbbing  in  the  heart  of  These  States,  for  sake  of  that — 
the  eager  eyes  forever  turned  to  that — watching  it,  struggling, 
appearing  and  disappearing,  often  apparently  gone  under,  yet 
never  to  be  abandoned,  in  France,  Italy,  Spain,  Germany,  and  in 
the  British  Islands. 


Song  of  the  Exposition. 
Song  of  the  Redwood-Tree, 
Song  of  the  Universal. 
Song  for  All  Seas. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

WALT  WHITMAN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington . 


KM*  llEi't'iu.rc 
Federal  St.,  Camdeu. 


(The  MUSE  invited  to  PHILADELPHIA. 


Applied  to  THE  CENTENNIAL,  Phila.,  1876 — (Originally  recited  for  Opening  tht, 
Wth  Annual  Exhibition  AMERICAN  INSTITUTE,  New  York,  noon,  September 
1th,  1871.) 

STRUGGLING  steadily  to  the  front,  not  only  in  the  spirit  of  Opinion,  Gov 
ernment,  and  the  like,  but,  in  due  time,  in  the  Artistic  also,  we  see  actual 
operative  LABOR  and  LABORERS,  with  Machinery,  Inventions,  Farms,  Pro 
ducts,  &c.,  pressing  to  place  our  time,  over  the  whole  civilized  world.  Hold 
ing  these  by  the  hand,  we  see,  or  hope  we  see,  THE  MUSE,  (radiating,  repre 
senting,  under  its  various  expressions,  as  in  every  age  and  land,  the  healthiest, 
most  heroic  Humanity,  common  to  all,  fusing  all,)  entering  the  demesnes  of 
the  ISew  World,  as  twin  and  sister  of  our  Democracy— at  any  rate  we  will  so 
invite  Her.  here  and  now — to  permanently  infuse  in  daily  toils,  and  be  infused 
by  them. 

Perhaps  no  clearer  or  more  illustrative  sign  exists  of  the  current  adjustment, 
and  tendency  than  those  superb  International  Expositions  of  the  World'* 
Products,  Inventions  and  Industries,  that,  commencing  in  London  under 
Prince  Albert,  have  since  signalized  all  the  principal  Nations  of  our  age,  and 
have  been  rife  in  the  United  States— culminating  in  this  great  Exposition  at 
Philadelphia,  around  which  the  American  Centennial,  and  its  thoughts  and 
associations,  cluster — with  vaster  ones  still  in  the  future. 

Ostensibly  to  inaugurate  an  Exposition  of  this  kind — still  more  to  outline 
the  establishment  of  a  grand  permanent  Cluster-Palace  of  Industry  from  an 
imaginative  and  Democratic  point  of  view — was  the  design  of  the  following 
poem  ;  from  such  impulses  it  was  ftrst  orally  deliver'd. 

1 

AFTER  all,  not  to  create  only,  or  found  only, 
But  to  bring,  perhaps  from  afar,  what  is  already  founded, 
To  give  it  our  own  indentity,  average,  limitless,  free  ; 
(To  fill  the  gross,  the  torpid  bulk,  with  vital  religious  fire :) 
Not  to  repel  or  destroy,  so  much  as  accept,  fuse,  rehabili 
tate  ; 

To  obey,  as  well  as  command — to  follow,  more  than  to  lead  ; 
These  also  are  the  lessons  of  our  New  World  ; 
—While  how  little  the  New,  after  all— how  much  the  Old. 
Old  World  J 

Long,  long,  long,  has  the  grass  been  growing, 
Long  and  long  has  the  rain  been  falling, 
Long  has  the  globe  been  rolling  round. 


CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 


Come,  Muse,  migrate  from  Greece  and  Ionia ; 

Cross  out,  please,  those  immensely  overpaid  accounts, 

That  matter  of  Troy,  and  Achilles'  wrath,  and  Eneas'. 

Odysseus'  wanderings  ; 
Placard  '  Removed  '  and  '  To  Let '  on  the  rocks  of  your  snowy 

Parnassus ; 
Repeat  at  Jerusalem — place  the  notice  high  on  Jaffa's  gate, 

and  on  Mount  Moriah  ; 
The  same  on  the  walls  of  the  great  Italian  Cathedrals,  and 

German,  French  and  Spanish  Castles  ; 
For  know  a  better,  fresher,  busier  sphere— a  wide,  untried 

domain  awaits,  demands  you. 


Responsive  to  our  summons, 
Or  rather  to  her  long-nurs'd  inclination, 
Join'd  with  an  irresistible,  natural  gravitation, 
She  comes  !  this  famous  Female — (as  was  indeed  to  be  ex 
pected  ; 
For  who,  so  ever-youthful,  'cute  and  handsome,  would  wish 

to  stay  in  mansions  such  as  those, 

When  offer'd  quarters  with  all  the  modern  improvements. 
With  all  the  fun  that's  going— and  all  the  best  society  ?) 

She  comes  I  I  hear  the  rustling  of  her  gown  ; 

I  scent  the  odor  of  her  breath's  delicious  fragrance  ; 

I  mark  her  step  divine — her  curious  eyes  a-turning,  rolling. 

Upon  this  very  scene. 

The  Dame  of  Dames  !  can  I  believe  then, 

Those  ancient  temples  classic,  and  castles  strong  and  feudal- 

istic,  could  none  of  them  restrain  her  ? 
Nor  shades  of  Virgil  and  Dante — nor  myriad  memories. 

poems,  old  associations,  magnetize  and  hold  on  to 

Her? 
But  that  she's  left  them  all— and  here? 

Yes,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so, 

I,  my  friends,  if  you  do  not,  can  plainly  see  Her, 

The  same  Undying  Soul  of  Earth's,  activity's,  beauty's, 
heroism's  Expression, 

Out  from  her  evolutions  hither  come — submerged  the  strata 
of  her  former  themes, 

Hidden  and  cover'd  by  to-day's — foundation  of  to-day's  ; 

Ended,  deceas'd,  through  time,  her  voice  by  Castaly's  foun 
tain, 

Silent  through  time  the  broken-lipp'd  Sphynx  in  Egypt- 
silent  those  century-baffling  tombs ; 


SONG  OF  THE  EXPOSITION.  5 

Ended  for  aye  the  epics  of  Asia's,  Europe's  helmeted  war 
riors — ended  the  primitive  call  of  the  Muses  ; 

Calliope's  call  forever  closed— Clio,  Melpomene,  Thalia 
dead ; 

Ended  the  stately  rhythmus  of  Una  and  Oriana— ended  the 
quest  of  the  Holy  Graal ; 

Jerusalem  a  handful  of  ashes  blown  by  the  wind — extinct ; 

The  Crusaders'  streams  of  shadowy,  midnight  troops,  sped 
with  the  sunrise ; 

Amadis,  Tancred,  utterly  gone— Charlemagne,  Roland,  Oli 
ver  gone, 

Palmerin,  ogre,  departed — vanish'd  the  turrets  that  Usk  re 
flected, 

Arthur  vanish'd  with  all  his  knights — Merlin  and  Larcelot 
and  Galahad — all  gone — dissolv'd  utterly,  like  an 
exhalation ; 

Pass'd  !  pass'd  !  for  us,  forever  pass'd  !  that  once  so  mighty 
World — now  void,  inanimate,  phantom  World  f 

Embroider'd,  dazzling,  foreign  World !  with  all  its  gorgeous 
legends,  myths, 

Its  kings  and  barons  proud — its  priests,  and  warlike  lords, 
and  courtly  dames ; 

Pass'd  to  its  charnel  vault— laid  on  the  shelf— coffin'd,  with 
Crown  and  Armor  on, 

Blazon'd  with  Shakspere's  purple  page, 

And  dirged  by  Tennyson's  sweet  sad  rhyme. 


I  say  I  see,  my  friends,  if  you  do  not,  the  Animus  of  all  that 

World, 
Escaped,  bequeath'd,  (and  yet,  fugacious  as  ever,)  leaving 

those  dead  remains,  and  now  this  spot  approaching, 

filling ; 
— And  I  can  hear  what  may-be  you  do  not — a  terrible  esthe- 

tical  commotion, 

(With  howling  desperate  gulp  of  '  flower  '  and  '  bower,' 
With  '  Sonnet  to  Matilda's  Eyebrow  '  quite,  quite  frantic  ; 
With  gushing,  sentimental  reading  circles  turn'd  to  ice  or 

stone ; 
With  many  a  squeak,  in  metre  choice,  from  Boston,  New 

York,  Paris,  London  ;) 
As  she,  the  illustrious  Emigre,  (having,  it  is  true,  in  her  day, 

although  the  same,  changed,  journey 'd  considerable,) 
Making  directly  for  this  Rendezvous — vigorously  clearing  a 

path  for  herself— striding  through  the  confusion, 
By  thud  of  machinery  and  shrill  steam-whistle  undismay'd, 
BlufPd  not  a  bit  by  drain-pipe,  gasometers,  artificial  fertili 
zers, 

Smiling  and  pleas'd,  with  palpable  intent  to  stay, 
She's  here,  install'd  amid  the  kitchen  ware  ! 


CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 


But  hold — don't  I  forget  my  manners  ? 

To  introduce  the  Stranger—  (what  else  indeed  have  I  come 

for?)  to  thee,  Columbia  ; 

In  Liberty's  name,  welcome,  Immortal !  clasp  hands, 
And  ever  henceforth  Sisters  dear  be  both. 

Fear  not,  O  Muse  !  truly  new  ways  and  days  receive,  sur 
round  you, 

I  candidly  confess  a  queer,  queer  race,  of  novel  fashion, 

And  yet  the  same  old  Human  Race— the  same  within, 
without, 

Faces  and  hearts  the  same — feelings  the  same — yearnings 
the  same, 

The  same  old  love — beauty  and  use  the  same. 


We  do  not  blame  thee,  Elder  World — nor  separate  ourselves 

from  thee : 

(Would  the  Son  separate  himself  from  the  Father?) 
Looking  back  on  'jhee — seeing  thee  to  thy  duties,  grandeurs, 

through  past  ages  bending,  building, 
We  build  to  ours  to-day. 

Mightier  than  Egypt's  tombs, 
Fairer  than  Grecia's,  Roma's  temples, 
Prouder  than  Milan's  statued,  spired  Cathedral, 
More  picturesque  than  Rhenish  castle-keeps, 
We  plan,  even  now,  to  raise,  beyond  them  all, 
Thy  great  Cathedral,  sacred  Industry — no  tomb, 
A  Keep  for  life  for  practical  Invention. 

As  in  a  waking  vision, 

E'en  while  I  chant,  I  see  it  rise— I  scan  and  prophecy,  out 
side  and  in, 
Its  manifold  ensemble. 


Around  a  Palace, 

Loftier,  fairer,  ampler  than  any  yet, 

(Earth's  modern  Wonder,  History's  Seven  outstripping, 

High  rising  tier  on  tier,  with  glass  and  iron  facades, 

Gladdening  the  sun  and  sky — enhued  in  cheermlest  hues, 

Bronze,  lilac,  robin's-egg,  marine  and  crimson, 

Over  whose  golden  roof  shall  flaunt,  beneath  thy  banner, 

Freedom, 

The  banners  of  The  States,  and  flags  of  every  Land,) 
A  brood  of  lofty,  fair,  but  lesser  Palaces  shall  cluster. 


SONG  OF  THE  EXPOSITION.  7 

Somewhere  within  the  walls  of  all, 

Shall  all  that  forwards  perfect  human  life  be  started, 

Tried,  taught,  advanced,  visibly  exhibited. 

Here  shall  you  trace  in  flowing  operation, 
In  every  state  of  practical,  busy  movement, 
The  rills  of  Civilization. 

Materials  here,  under  your  eye,  shall  change  their  shape,  as 

if  by  magic ; 

The  cotton  shall  be  pick'd  almost  in  the  very  field, 
Shall  be  dried,  clean'd,  ginn'd,  baled,  spun  into  thread  and 

cloth,  before  you  : 
You  shall  see  hands  at  work  at  all  the  old  processes,  and 

all  the  new  ones  ; 
You  shall  see  the  various  grains,  and  how  flour  is  made,  and 

then  bread  baked  by  the  bakers  ; 

You  shall  see  the  crude  ores  of  California  and  Nevada  pass 
ing  on  and  on  till  they  become  bullion ; 
You  shall  watch  how  the  printer  sets  type,  and  learn  what 

a  composing-stick  is  ; 
You  shall  mark,  in  amazement,  the  Hoe  press  whirling  its 

cylinders,  shedding  the  printed  leaves  steady  and 

fast; 
The  photograph,  model,  watch,  pin,  nail,  shall  be  created 

before  you. 

In  large  calm  halls,  a  stately  Museum  shall  teach  you  the 
infinite,  solemn  lessons  of  Minerals  ; 

In  another,  Woods,  Plants,  Vegetation  shall  be  illustrated — 
in  another  Animals,  animal  life  and  development. 

One  stately  house  shall  be  the  Music  House  ; 

Others  for  other  Arts— Learning,  the  Sciences,  shall  all  be 

here, 
None  shall  be  slighted — none  but  shall  here  be  honor 'd, 

help'd,  exampled. 


This,  this  and  these,  America,  shall  be  your  Pyramids  and 

Obelisks, 

Your  Alexandrian  Pharos,  gardens  of  Babylon, 
Your  temple  at  Olympia. 

The  male  and  female  many  laboring  not, 
Shall  ever  here  confront  the  laboring  many, 
With  precious  benefits  to  both— glory  to  all, 
To  thee,  America— and  thee,  Eternal  Muse. 


8  CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 

And  here  shall  ye  inhabit,  Powerful  Matrons  ! 
In  your  vast  state,  vaster  than  all  the  old  ; 
Echoed  through  long,  long  centuries  to  come, 
To  sound  of  different,  prouder  songs,  with  stronger  themes, 
Practical,  peaceful  life— the  people's  life— the  People  them 
selves, 
Lifted,  illumin'd,  bathed  in  Peace — elate,  secure  in  peace. 


Away  with  themes  of  war  !  away  with  War  itself ! 

Hence  from  my  shuddering  sight,  to  never  more  return,  that 

show  of  blacken'd,  mutilated  corpses  ! 
That  hell  unpent,  and  raid  of  blood — fit  for  wild  tigers,  or 

for  lop-tongued  wolves — not  reasoning  men ! 
And  in  its  stead  speed  Industry's  campaigns  ! 
With  thy  undaunted  armies.  Engineering  ! 
Thy  pennants,  Labor,  loosen'd  to  the  breeze  ! 
Thy  bugles  sounding  loud  and  clear ! 

Away  with  old  romance  ! 

Away  with  novels,  plots,  and  plays  of  foreign  courts  ! 

Away  with  love-verses,  sugar'd  in  rhyme — the  intrigues, 
amours  of  idlers, 

Fitted  for  only  banquets  of  the  night,  where  dancers  to  late 
music  slide  ; 

The  unhealthy  pleasures,  extravagant  dissipations  of  the 
few, 

With  perfumes,  heat  and  wine,  beneath  the  dazzling  chan 
deliers. 


To  you,  ye  Reverent,  sane  Sisters, 

I  raise  a  voice  for  far  superber  themes  for  poets  and  for  Art, 

To  exalt  the  present  and  the  real, 

To  teach  the  average  man  the  glory  of  his  daily  walk  and 
trade, 

To  sing,  in  songs,  how  exercise  and  chemical  life  are  never 
to  be  baffled ; 

Boldly  to  thee,  America,  to-day  !  and  thee,  Immortal  Muse  ! 

To  practical,  manual  work,  for  each  and  all— to  plough, 
hoe,  dig, 

To  plant  and  tend  the  tree,  the  berry,  vegetables,  flowers, 

For  every  man  to  see  to  it  that  he  really  do  something — 
for  every  woman  too  ; 

To  use  the  hammer  and  the  saw,  (rip,  or  cross-cut,) 

To  cultivate  a  turn  for  carpentering,  plastering,  painting, 

To  work  as  tailor,  tailoress,  nurse,  hostler,  porter, 

To  invent  a  little — something  ingenious — to  aid  the  wash 
ing,  cooking,  cleaning, 

And  hold  it  no  disgrace  to  take  a  hand  at  them  themselves. 


SONG  OF  THE  EXPOSITION.  9 

I  say  I  bring  thee,  Muse,  to-day  and  here, 

All  occupations,  duties  broad  and  close, 

Toil,  healthy  toil  and  sweat,  endless,  without  cessation, 

The  old,  old  general  burdens,  interests,  joys, 

The  family,  parentage,  childhood,  husband  and  wife, 

The  house-comforts —the  house  itself,  and  all  its  belongings, 

Food  and  its  preservation — chemistry  applied  to  it ; 

Whatever  forms  the  average,  strong,  complete,  sweet- 
blooded  Man  or  Woman — the  perfect  longeve  Per 
sonality, 

And  helps  its  present  life  to  health  and  happiness — and 
shapes  its  Soul, 

For  the  eternal  Real  Life  to  come. 

With  latest  materials,  works,  the  INTER-TRANSPORTATION 

of  the  World, 

Steam-power,  the  great  Express  lines,  gas,  petroleum, 
These  triumphs  of  our  time,  the  Atlantic's  delicate  Cable, 
The  Pacific  Railroad,  the  Suez  Canal,  the  Mont  Cenis  and 

Hoosac  Tunnels,  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  ; 
This  earth  all  spann'd  with  iron  Rails — with  lines  of  Steam 
ships  threading  every  sea, 
Our  own  Rondure,  the  current  globe  I  bring. 

10 

And  thou,  America! 

Thy  swarm   of  offspring  towering  high — yet  higher  Thee 

above  all  towering, 

With  Victory  on  thy  left,  and  at  thy  right  hand  Law; 
Thou  Union,  holding  all — fusing,  absorbing,  tolerating  all, 
Thee,  ever  thee,  I  bring. 

Thou— also  thou.  a  World  ! 

With  all  thy  wide  geographies,  manifold,  different,  distant, 
Rounded  by  thee  in  one — One  common  orbic  language, 
One  common  indivisible  destinv,  for  All. 

11 

And  by  the  spells  which  ye  vouchsafe, 
To  those,  your  ministers  in  earnest, 
I  here  personify  and  call  my  themes, 
To  make  them  pass  before  ye. 

Behold,  America!  (And  thou,  ineffable  Guest  and  Sister !) 
For  thee  come  trooping  up  thy  waters  and  thy  lands  : 
Behold !  thy  fields  and  farms,  thy  far-off  woods  and  moun 
tains, 

As  in  procession  coming, 
o 


10  CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 

Behold !  the  sea  itself ! 

And  on  its  limitless,  heaving  breast,  the  ships  : 

See  !  where  their  white  sails,  bellying  in  the  wind,  speckle 

the  green  and  blue  ! 
See  !  the  steamers  coming  and  going,  steaming  in  or  out  of 

port ! 
See  !  dusky  and  undulating,  the  long  pennants  of  smoke. 

Behold,  in  Oregon,  far  in  the  north  and  west, 

Or  in  Maine,  far  in  the  north  and  east,  thy  cheerful  axemen, 

Wielding  all  day  their  axes  ! 

Behold,  on  the  lakes,  thy  pilots  at  their  wheels— thy  oars 
men! 
Behold,  how  the  ash  writhes  under  those  muscular  arms ! 

There  by  the  furnace,  and  there  by  the  anvil, 
Behold  thy  sturdy  blacksmiths,  swinging  their  sledges, 
Overhand  so  steady— overhand  they  turn  and  fall  with  joy 
ous  clank, 
Like  a  tumult  of  laughter. 

Behold  !  (for  still  the  procession  moyes,) 

Beheld,  Mother  of  All,  thy  countless  sailors,  boatmen. 

coasters ! 
The  myriads  of  thy  young  and  old  mechanics. 

Mark — mark  the  spirit  of  invention  everywhere — thy  rapid 

patents, 

Thy  continual  workshops,  foundries,  risen  or  rising ; 
See,  from  their  chimneys,  how  the  tall  flame-fires  stream  ! 

Mark,  thy  interminable  farms,  North,  South, 

Thy  wealthy  Daughter-States,  Eastern  and  Western, 

The  varied  products  of  Ohio,  Pennsylvania,  Missouri, 
Georgia,  Texas,  and  the  rest ; 

Thy  limitless  crops— grass,  wheat,  sugar,  corn,  rice,  hemp, 
hops, 

Thy  barns  all  fill'd— thy  endless  freight-trains,  and  thy  bulg 
ing  store-houses, 

The  grapes  that  ripen  on  thy  vines — the  apples  in  thy 
orchards, 

Thy  incalculable  lumber,  beef,  pork,  potatoes— thy  coal— 
thy  gold  and  silver, 

The  inexhaustible  iron  in  thy  mines. 

12 

All  thine,  0  sacred  Union  ! 

Ships,  farms,  shops,  barns,  factories,  mines, 

City  and  State — North,  South,  item  and  aggregate, 

We  dedicate,  dread  Mother,  all  to  thee  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  EXPOSITION.  11 

Protectress  absolute,  thou  !    Bulwark  of  all ! 
For  well  we  know  that  while  thou  givest  each  and  all,  (gen 
erous  as  Ged,) 

Without  thee  neither  all  nor  each,  nor  land,  home, 
Ship,  nor  mine— nor  any  here,  this  day,  secure, 
Nor  aught,  nor  any  day,  secure. 

13 

And  thou,  thy  Emblem,  waving  over  all ! 
Delicate  Beauty !  a  word  to  thee,  (it  may  be  salutary  ;) 
Remember,  thou  hast  not  always  been,  as  here  to-day,  so 

comfortably  ensovereign'd  : 

In  other  scenes  than  these  have  I  observ'd  thee,  flagj, 
Not  quite  so  trim  and  whole,  and  freshly  blooming,  in  folds 

of  stainless  silk ; 
But  I  have  seen  thee,  bunting,  to  tatters  torn,  upon  thy 

splinter'd  staff, 

Or  clutch'd  to  some  young  color-bearer's  breast,  with  des 
perate  hands, 

Savagely  struggled  for,  for  life  or  death— fought  over  long, 
'Mid  cannon's  thunder-crash,  and  many  a  curse,  and  groan 

and  yell — and  rifle-volleys  cracking  sharp, 
And  moving  masses,  as  wild  demons  surging — and  lives  as 

nothing  risk'd, 
For  thy  mere  remnant,  grimed  with  dirt  and  smoke,  and 

sopp'd  in  blood ; 
For  sake  of  that,  my  beauty— and  that  thou  might'st  dally, 

as  now,  secure  up  there, 
Many  a  good  man  have  I  seen  go  under. 

14 

Now  here,  and  these,  and  hence,  in  peace,  all  thine,  O  Flag ! 
And  here,  and  hence,  for  thee,  O  Universal  Muse  !  and  thou 

for  them  ! 
And  here  and  hence,  O  Union,  all  the  work  and  workmen 

thine  I 
None  separate  from  Thee— henceforth  one  only,  We  and 

(For  the  blood  of  the  Children— what  is  it,  only  the  blood 

Maternal  ? 
And  lives  and  works — what  are  they  all  at  last,  except  the 

roads  to  Faith  and  Death  ?) 

While  we  rehearse  our  measureless  wealth,  it  is  for  Thee, 

dear  Mother ! 

We  own  it  all  and  several  to-day  indissoluble  in  Thee  ; 
—Think  not  our  chant,  our  show,  merely  for  products  gross, 

or  lucre— it  is  for  Thee,  the  Soul  in  thee,  electric, 

spiritual ! 
Our  farms,  inventions,  crops,  we  own  in  Thee  1    Cities  and 

States  in  Thee ! 
Our  freedom  all  in  Thee  !  our  very  lives  in  Thee  ! 


12  CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 

SONG  OF  THE  REDWOOD-TREE. 


A  CALIFORNIA  song ! 

A  prophecy  and  indirection— a  thought  impalpable,  to 
breathe,  as  air ; 

A  chorus  of  dryads,  fading,  departing — or  hamadryads  de 
parting  ; 

A  murmuring,  fateful,  giant  voice,  out  of  the  earth  and  sky. 

Voice  of  a  mighty  dying  tree  in  the  Redwood  forest  dense. 

Farewell,  my  brethren. 

Farewell,  O  earth  and  sky — farewell,  ye  neighboring  waters  : 

My  time  has  ended,  my  term  has  come. 


Along  the  northern  coast, 

Just  back  from  the  rock-bound  shore,  and  the  caves, 

In  the  saline  air  from  the  sea,  in  the  Mendocino  country, 

With  the  surge  for  bass  and  accompaniment  low  and  hoarse. 

With  crackling  blows  of  axes,  sounding  musically,  driven  by 

strong  arms, 
Riven  deep  by  the  sharp  tongues  of  the  axes— there  in  the 

Redwood  forest  dense, 
I  heard  the  mighty  tree  its  death-chant  chanting. 

The  choppers  heard  not — the  camp  shanties  echoed  not ; 
The  quick-ear'd  teamsters,  and  chain  and  jack-screw  men, 

heard  not, 
As  the  wood-spirits  came  from  their  haunts  of  a  thousand 

years,  to  join  the  refrain  ; 
But  in  my  soul  I  plainly  heard. 

Murmuring  out  of  its  myriad  leaves, 

Down  from  its  lofty  top,  rising  two  hundred  feet  high, 

Out  of  its  stalwart   trunk  and   limbs — out  of  its  foot-thick 

bark, 
That  chant  of  the  seasons  and  time — chant,  not  of  the  past 

onlv.  but  the  future. 


You  untold  life  of  me, 

And  all  you  venerable  and  innocent  joys, 

Perennial,  hardy  life  of  me,  with  joys,  ''mid  rain,  and  many  a 

summer  sun, 

And  the  white  snows,  and  night,  and  the  wild  winds  ; 
0  the  great  patient,  rugged  joys !  my  souVs  strong  joys,  unreck\l 

by  man; 


SONG  OF  THE  REDWOOD-TREE.  13 

(For  know  I  bear  the  soul  befitting  me — /  too  have  consciousness. 

identity , 

And  all  the  rocks  and  mountains  have — and  all  the  earth;) 
Joys  of  the  life  befitting  me  and  brothers  mine, 
Our  time,  our  term  has  come. 

Nor  yield  we  mournfully,  majestic  brothers. 

We  who  have  grandly  filVd  our  time  ; 

With  Nature's  calm  content,  and  tacit,  huge  delight, 

We  welcome  what  we  wrought  J or  through  the  past, 

And  leave  the  field  for  them. 

For  them  predicted  long, 

For  a  superber  Race — they  too  to  grandly  fill  their  time, 

For  them  we  abdicate — in  them  ourselves,  ye  forest  Icings  I 

In  them  these  skies  and  airs — these  mountain  peaks — Shasta — 

Neva  das, 

These  huge,  precipitous   cliffs — this    amplitude —these   valleys- 
grand —  Yosemite, 
To  be  in  them  absorb' d,  assimilated. 


Then  to  a  loftier  strain, 
Still  prouder,  more  ecstatic,  rose  the  chant, 
As  if  the  heirs,  the  Deities  of  the  West, 
Joining,  with  master-tongue,  bore  part. 

Not  wan  from  Asia's  fetishes, 

Nor  red  from  Europe's  old  dynastic  slaughter-house, 

( Area  of  murder-plots  of  thrones,  with  scent  left  yet  of  wars  and 

scaffolds  every  where,} 
But  come  from  Nature's  long  and  harmless  throes— peacefully 

builded  thence, 

These  virgin  lands — Lands  of  the  Western  Shore, 
To  the  new  Culminating  Man— to  you,  the  Empire  New, 
You,promis'd  long,  we  pledge,  we  dedicate. 

You  occult,  deep  volitions. 

You  average  Spiritual  Manhood,  purpose  of  ail,  pois'd  on  your 
self — giving,  not  taking  law, 

You  Womanhood  divine,  mistress  and  source  of  all,  whence  life 
and  love,  and  aught  that  comes  from  life  and  love, 

You  unseen  Moral  Essence  of  all  the  vast  materials  of  America, 
(age  upon  age,  working  in  Death  the  same  as  Life,} 

You  that,  sometimes  known,  oftener  unknown,  really  shape  and 
mould  the  New  World,  adjusting  it  to  Time  and  Space, 

You  hidden  National  Will,  lying  in  your  abysms,  conceal'd,  but 
ever  alert, 

You  past  and  present  purposes ,  tenaciously  pursued,  may-be  un 
conscious  of  yourselves. 


14  CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 

Unswerv'd  by  all  the  passing  errors,  perturbations  of  the  sur 
face  ; 

You  vital-,  universal,  deathless  germs,  beneath  all  creeds,  arts, 
statutes,  literatures, 

Here  build  your  homes  for  good — establish  here — These  areas 
entire,  Lands  of  the  Western  Shore, 

We  pledge,  we  dedicate  to  you. 

For  man  of  you — your  characteristic  Race, 

Here  may  he  hardy,  sweet ,  gigantic  grow — here  tower,  propor 
tionate  to  Nature, 

Here  climb  the  vast,  pure  spaces,  unconjined,  unchecked  by  wall 
or  roof, 

Here  laugh  with  storm  or  sun — here  joy — here  patiently  inure, 

Here  heed  himself,  unfold  himself  (not  others'  formulas  heed) — 
here  Jill  his  time, 

To  duly  fall,  to  aid,  unreck'd  at  last, 

To  disappear,  to  serve. 

Thus,  on  the  northern  coast, 

In  the  echo  of  teamsters'  calls,  and  the  clinking  chains,  and 
the  music  of  choppers'  axes, 

The  falling  trunk  and  limbs,  the  crash,  the  muffled  shriek, 
the  groan , 

Such  words  combined  from  the  Redwood-tree — as  of  wood- 
spirits'  voices  ecstatic,  ancient  and  rustling, 

The  century-lasting,  unseen  dryads,  singing,  withdrawing, 

All  their  recesses  of  forests  and  mountains  leaving, 

From  the  Cascade  range  t«  the  Wasatch — or  Idaho  far,  or 
Utah, 

To  the  deities  of  the  Modern  henceforth  yielding, 

The  chorus  and  indications,  the  vistas  of  coming  humanity — 
the  settlements,  features  all, 

In  the  Mendocino  woods  I  caught. 


The  flashing  and  golden  pageant  of  California  ! 

The   sudden  and  gorgeous  drama — the   sunny  and  ample 

lands ; 
The  long  and  varied  stretch  from  Puget  Sound  to  Colorado 

south ; 
Lands  bathed  in  sweeter,  rarer,  healthier  air — valleys  and 

mountain  cliffs ; 
The  fields  of  Nature  long  prepared  and  fallow — the  silent, 

cyclic  chemistry ; 
The  slow  and  steady  ages  plodding — the  unoccupied  surface 

ripening — thelich  ores  forming  beneath; 
At  last  the  New  arriving,  assuming,  taking  possession, 
A  swarming  and  busy  race  settling  and  organizing  every 

where ; 


CENTENNIAL  SONGS.  15 

Ships  coming  in  from  the  whole  round  world,  and  going  out 
to  the  whole  world, 

To  India  and  China  and  Australia,  and  the  thousand  island 
paradises  of  the  Pacific  ; 

Populous  cities — the  latest  inventions — the  steamers  on  the 
rivers— the  railroads— with  many  a  thrifty  farm, 
with  machinery, 

And  wool,  and  wheat,  and  the  grape — and  diggings  of  yel 
low  gold. 


But  more  in  you  than  these,  Lands  of  the  Western  Shore  ! 
(These  but  the  means,  the  implements,  the  standing-ground,) 
I  see  in  you,  certain  to  come,  the  promise  of  thousands  of 

years,  till  now  deferr'd, 
Promis'd,  to  be  fulfilled,  our  common  kind,  the  Race. 

The  New  Society  at  last,  proportionate  to  Nature,     . 

In  Man  of  you,  more  than  your  mountain  peaks,  or  stalwart 

trees  imperial, 
In  Woman  more,  far  more,  than  all  your  gold,  or  vines,  or 

even  vital  air. 

Fresh  come,  to  a  New  World  indeed,  yet  long  prepared, 
I  see  the  Genius  of  the  Modern,  child  of  the  Eeal  and  Ideal, 
Clearing  the  ground  for  broad  Humanity,  the  true  America, 

heir  of  the  past  so  grand, 
To  build  a  grander  future. 


SONG  OF  THE  UNIVERSAL. 

[Commencement  Poem,  Tuft's  College,  Mass.,  June  17, 1874.] 
1 

COME,  said  the  Muse, 

Sing  me  a  song  no  poet  yet  has  chanted, 

Sing  me  the  Universal. 

In  this  broad  Earth  of  ours, 
Amid  the  measureless  grossness  and  the  slag, 
Enclosed  and  safe  within  its  central  heart, 
Nestles  the  seed  Perfection. 

By  every  life  a  share,  or  more  or  less, 
None  born  bat  it  is  born — conceal'd  or  unconceaPd,  the  seed 
is  waiting. 


16  CENTENNIAL  SONGS. 


Lo  !  keen-eyed,  towering  Science  ! 

As  from  tall  peaks  the  Modern  overlooking, 

Successive,  absolute  fiats  issuing. 

Yet  again,  lo  !  the  Soul— above  all  science; 

For  it,  has  History  gather'd  like  a  husk  around  the  globe  ; 

For  it,  the  entire  star-myriads  roll  through  the  8ky. 

In  spiral  roads,  by  long  detours, 
(As  a  much-tacking  ship  upon  the  sea,) 
For  it,  the  partial  to  the  permanent  flowing, 
For  it,  the  Real  to  the  Ideal  tends. 

For  it,  the  mystic  evolution  ; 

Not  the  right  only  justified— what  we  call  evil  also  justified. 

Forth  from  their  masks,  no  matter  what, 

From  the  huge,  festering  trunk — from  craft  and  guile  and 

tears, 
Health  to  emerge,  and  joy — joy  universal. 

Out  of  the  bulk,  the  morbid  and  the  shallow, 

Out  of  the  bad  majority— the  varied,  countless  frauds  of  men 

and  States. 

Electric,  antiseptic'yet— cleaving,  suffusing  all, 
Only  the  Good  is  universal. 


Over  the  mountain  growths,  disease  and  sorrow, 
An  uncaught  bird  is  ever  hovering,  hovering, 
High  in  the  purer,  happier  air. 

From  imperfection's  murkiest  cloud, 
Darts  always  forth  one  ray  of  perfect  light, 
One  flash  of  Heaven's  glory. 

To  fashion's,  custom's  discord, 
To  the  mad  Babel-din,  the  deafening  orgies, 
Soothing  each  lull,  a  strain  is  heard,  just  heard, 
From  some  far  shore,  the  final  chorus  sounding. 


O  the  blest  eyes  !  the  happy  hearts  I 

That  see— that  know  the  guiding  thread  so  fine. 

Along  the  mighty  labyrinth  ! 


And  thou,  America ! 


SONG  OF  THE  UNIVERSAL.  17 

For  the  Scheme's  culmination— its  Thought,  and  its  Reality, 
For  these,  (not  for  thyself,)  Thou  hast  arrived. 

Thou  too  surroundest  all ; 

Embracing,  carrying,  welcoming  all,  Thou  too,  by  pathways 

broad  and  new, 
To  the  Ideal  tendest. 

The  measur'd  faiths  of  other  lands— the  grandeurs  of  the 

past, 

Are  not  for  Thee — but  grandeurs  of  Thine  own  ; 
Deific  faiths  and  amplitudes,  absorbing,  comprehending  all, 
All  eligible  to  all. 

All,  all  for  Immortality! 
Love,  like  the  light,  silently  wrapping  all  I 
Nature's  amelioration  blessing  all ! 

The  blossoms,  fruits  of  ages— orchards  divine  and  certain  ; 
Forms,  objects,  growths,  humanities,  to  Spiritual  Images 
ripening. 


Give  me,  0  God,  to  sing  that  thought! 

Give  me— give  him  or  her  I  love,  this  quenchless  faith 

In  Thy  ensemble.    "Whatever  else  withheld,  withhold  not 

from  us, 

Belief  in  plan  of  Thee  enclosed  in  Time  and  Space ; 
Health,  peace,  salvation  universal. 

Is  it  a  dream  ? 

Nay,  but  the  lack  of  it  the  dream, 

And,  failing  it,  life's  lore  and  wealth  a  dream, 

And  all  the  world  a  dream. 


SONG  FOR  ALL  SEAS,  ALL  SHIPS. 


TO-DAY  a  rude  brief  recitative, 

Of  ships  sailing  the  Seas,  each  with  its  special  flag  or  ship- 
signal  ; 

Of  unnamed  heroes  in  the  ships — Of  waves  spreading  and 
spreading,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  ; 

Of  dashing  spray,  and  the  winds  piping  and  blowing  ; 

And  out  of  these  a  chant,  for  the.  sailors  of  all  nations, 

Fitful,  like  a  surge. 


18  SONO  FOR  ALL  SEAS. 

Of  Sea-Captains  young  or  old,  and  the  Mates— and  of  all 
intrepid  Sailors ; 

Of  the  few,  very  choice,  tactiturn,  whom  fate  can  never  sur 
prise,  nor  death  dismay, 

Pick'd  sparingly,  without  noise,  by  thee,  old  Ocean — chosen 
by  thee, 

Thou  Sea,  that  pickest  and  cullest  the  race,  in  Time,  and 
unitest  Nations! 

Suckled  by  thee,  old  husky  Nurse — embodying  thee  ! 

Indomitable,  untamed  as  thee. 

(Ever  the  heroes,  on  water  or  on  land,  by  ones  or  twos  ap 
pearing, 

Ever  the  stock  preserv'd,  and  never  lost,  though  rare — 
enough  for  seed  preserv'd.) 


Flaunt  out  0  Sea,  your  separate  flags  of  nations  I 

Flaunt  out,  visible  as  ever,  the  various  ship-signals  ! 

But  do  you  reserve  especially  for  yourself,  and  for  the  soul 

of  man,  one  flag  above  all  the  rest, 
A  spiritual  woven  Signal,  for  all  nations,  emblem  of  man 

elate  above  death, 
Token  of  all  brave  captains,  and  all  intrepid  sailors  and 

mates, 

And  all  that  went  down  doing  their  duty ; 
Reminiscent  of  them — twined  from  all  intrepid  captains, 

young  or  old ; 
A  pennant  universal,  subtly  waying,  all  time,  o'er  all  brave 

sailors, 
All  seas,  all  ships. 


As  a  Strong  Bird  on 
Pinions  Free. 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  iu  the  year  1872,  by 

WALT     WHITMAN, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


S.  W.  GREEN,  Printer,  1G  and  18  Jacob  Street,  New-York. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

PREFACE. v 

ONE  SONG,  AMERICA,  BEFORE  I  GO xi 

SOUVENIRS  OF  DEMOCRACY xiii 

As  A  STRONG  BIRD  ON  PINIONS  FREE 1 

THE  MYSTIC  TRUMPETER 8 

% 

O  STAR  OF  FRANCE  ! 13 

VIRGINIA — THE  WEST 15 

BY  BROAD  POTOMAC'S  SHORE 16 


PKEFACE. 


THE  impetus  and  ideas  urging  me,  for  some,  years  past,  to 
an  utterance,  or  attempt  at  utterance,  of  New  World  songs, 
and  an  epic  of  Democracy,  having  already  had  their  published 
expression,  as  well  as  I  can  expect  to  give  it,  in  LEAVES  OF 
GRASS,  the  present  and  any  future  pieces  from  me  are  really  but 
the  surplusage  forming  after  that  Volume,  or  the  wake  eddying 
behind  it.  I  fulfilled  in  that  an  imperious  conviction,  and  the 
commands  of  my  nature  as  total  and  irresistible  as  those  which 
make  the  sea  flow,  or  the  globe  revolve.  But  of  this  Supple 
mentary  Volume,  I  confess  I  am  not  so  certain.  Having  from 
early  manhood  abandoned  the  business  pursuits  and  appli 
cations  usual  in  my  time  and  country,  and  obediently  yielded 
myself  up  ever  since  to  the  impetus  mentioned,  and  to  the  work  of 
expressing  those  ideas,  it  may  be  that  mere  habit  has  got  dominion 
of  me,  when  there  is  no  real  need  of  saying  any  thing  further.  .  .  . 
But  what  is  life  but  an  experiment  ?  and  mortality  but  an  exer 
cise  ?  with  reference  to  results  beyond.  And  so  shall  my  poems 
be.  If  incomplete  here,  and  superfluous  there,  rfimporte — the 
earnest  trial  and  persistent  exploration  shall  at  least  be  mine, 
and  other  success  failing,  shall  be  success  enough.  I  have  been 
more  anxious,  anyhow,  to  suggest  the  songs  of  vital  endeavor, 
and  manly  evolution,  and  furnish  something  for  races  of  out 
door  athletes,  than  to  make  perfect  rhymes,  or  reign  in  the  par 
lors.  I  ventured  from  the  beginning,  my  own  way,  taking 
chances — and  would  keep  on  venturing. 

I  will  therefore  not  conceal  from  any  persons,  known  or  un 
known  to  me,  who  take  interest  in  the  matter,  that  I  have  the 
ambition  of  devoting  yet  a  few  years  to  poetic  composition.  .  .  . 
The  mighty  present  age !  To  absorb,  and  express  in  poetry, 
any  thing  of  it — of  its  world — America — cities  and  States — the 


vi  PREFACE. 

years,  the  events  of  our  Nineteenth  Century — the  rapidity  of 
movement — the  violent  contrasts,  fluctuations  of  light  and  shade, 
of  hope  and  fear — the  entire  revolution  made  by  science  in  the 
poetic  method — these  great  new  underlying  facts  and  new  ideas 
rushing  and  spreading  everywhere  ; — Truly  a  mighty  age  !  As 
if  in  some  colossal  drama,  acted  again  like  those  of  old,  under 
the  open  sun,  the  Nations  of  our  time,  and  all  the  characteristics 
of  Civilization,  seem  hurrying,  stalking  across,  flitting  from  wing 
to  wing,  gathering,  closing  up,  toward  some  long-prepared,  most 
tremendous  denouement.  Not  to  conclude  the  infinite  scenas 
of  the  race's  life  and  toil  and  happiness  and  sorrow,  but  haply 
that  the  boards  be  cleared  from  oldest,  worst  incumbrances,  ac 
cumulations,  and  Man  resume  the  eternal  play  anew,  and  under 
happier,  freer  auspices.  ...  To  me,  the  United  States  are  im 
portant  because,  in  this  colossal  drama,  they  are  unquestionably 
designated  for  the  leading  parts,  for  many  a  century  to  come. 
In  them  History  and  Humanity  seem  to  seek  to  culminate.  Our 
broad  areas  are  even  now  the  busy  theatre  of  plots,  passions, 
interests,  and  suspended  problems,  compared  to  which  the  in 
trigues  of  the  past  of  Europe,  the  wars  of  dynasties,  the  scope 
of  kings  and  kingdoms,  and  even  the  development  of  peoples, 
as  hitherto,  exhibit  scales  of  measurement  comparatively  narrow 
and  trivial.  And  on  these  areas  of  ours,  as  on  a  stage,  sooner 
or  later,  something  like  an  eclaircissement  of  all  the  past  civili 
zation  of  Europe  and  Asia  is  probably  to  be  evolved. 

The  leading  parts.  .  .  .  Not  to  be  acted,  emulated  here,  by  us 
again,  that  role  till  now  foremost  in  History — Not  to  become  a 
conqueror  Nation,  or  to  achieve  the  glory  of  mere  military,  or 
diplomatic,  or  commercial  superiority — but  to  become  the  grand 
Producing  Land  of  nobler  Men  and  Women — of  copious  races, 
cheerful,  healthy,  tolerant,  free — To  become  the  most  friendly 
Nation,  (the  United  States  indeed,) — the  modern  composite 
Nation,  formed  from  all,  with  room  for  all,  welcoming  all  immi 
grants — accepting  the  work  of  our  own  interior  development,  as 
the  work  fitly  filling  ages  and  ages  to  come  ; — the  leading  Na 
tion  of  peace,  but  neither  ignorant  nor  incapable  of  being  the 
leading  Nation  of  war ;— not  the  Man's  Nation  only,  but  the 


PREFACE.  vii 

Woman's  Nation — a  land  of  splendid  mothers,  daughters,  sis 
ters,  wives. 

Our  America  to-day  I  consider  in  many  respects  as  but  indeed 
a  vast  seething  mass  of  materials,  ampler,  better,  (worse  also,) 
than  previously  known — eligible  to  be  used  to  carry  toward  its 
crowning  stage,  and  build  for  good  the  great  Ideal  Nationality  of 
the  future,  the  Nation  of  the  Body  and  the  Soul,* — no  limit 
here  to  land,  help,  opportunities,  mines,  products,  demands, 
supplies,  &c. ; — with  (I  think)  our  political  organization, 
National,  State,  and  Municipal,  permanently  established,  as  far 
ahead  as  we  can  calculate — but,  so  far,  no  social,  literary,  reli 
gious,  or  esthetic  organizations,  consistent  with  our  politics,  or 
becoming  to  us — which  organizations  can  only  come,  in  time, 
through  native  schools  or.  teachers  of  great  Democratic  Ideas, 
Religion — through  Science,  which  now,  like  a  new  sunrise,  as 
cending,  begins  to  illuminate  all — and  through  our  own  begotten 
Poets  and  Literatuses.  .  .  .  (The  moral  of  a  late  well-written 
book  on  Civilization  seems  to  be  that  the  only  real  foundation 
walls  and  basis— and  also  sine  qua  non  afterward— of  true  and 
full  Civilization,  is  the  eligibility  and  certainty  of  boundless  pro 
ducts  for  feeding,  clothing,  sheltering  every  body — perennial 
fountains  of  physical  and  domestic  comfort,  with  intercommu 
nication,  and  with  civil  and  ecclesiastical  freedom ; — and  that 
then  the  esthetic  and  mental  business  will  take  care  of  itself. 
.  .  .  Well,  the  United  States  have  established  this  basis,  and 
upon  scales  of  extent,  variety,  vitality,  and  continuity,  rivaling 
those  of  Nature ;  and  have  now  to  proceed  to  build  an  Edifice 
upon  it.  I  say  this  Edifice  is  only  to  be  fitly  built  by  new 


*  The  problems  of  the  achievement  of  this  crowning  stage  through  future 
first-class  National  Singers,  Orators,  Artists,  and  others— of  creating  in  lite 
rature  an  imaginative  New  World,  the  correspondent  and  counterpart  of  tho 
current  Scientific  and  Political  New  Worlds— and  the  perhaps  distant,  but  still 
delightful  prospect,  (for  our  children,  if  not  in  our  own  day,)  of  delivering 
America,  and,  indeed,  all  Christian  lands  everywhere,  from  the  thin,  moribund, 
and  watery,  but  appallingly  extensive  nuisance  of  conventional  poetry— by  put 
ting  something  really  alive  and  substantial  in  its  place— I  have  undertaken 
to  grapple  with,  and  argue,  in  DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 


viii  PREFACE. 

Literatures,  especially  the  Poetic.  I  say  a  modern  Image-Making 
creation  is  indispensable  to  fuse  and  express  the  modern  Politi 
cal  and  Scientific  creations — and  then  the  Trinity  will  be  com 
plete.) 

When  I  commenced,  years  ago,  elaborating  the  plan  of  my 
poems,  and  continued  turning  over  that  plan,  and  shifting  it  in 
my  mind  through  many  years,  (from  the  age  of  twenty-eight  to 
thirty-five,)  experimenting  much,  and  writing  and  abandoning 
much,  one  deep  purpose  underlay  the  others,  and  has  underlain 
it  and  its  execution  ever  since — and  that  has  been  the  Religious 
purpose.     Amid  many  changes,  and  a  formulation  taking  far 
different  shape  from  what  I  at  first  supposed,  this  basic  purpose 
has  never  been  departed  from  in  the  composition  of  my  verses. 
Not  of  course  to  exhibit  itself  in  the  old  ways,  as  in  writing 
hymns  or  psalms  with  an  eye  to  the  church-pew,  or  to  express 
conventional  pietism,  or  the  sickly  yearnings  of  devotees,  but  in 
new  ways,  and  aiming  at  the  widest  sub-bases  and  inclusions  of 
Humanity,  and  tallying  the  fresh  air  of  sea  and  land.     I  will  see, 
(said  I  to  myself,)  whether  there  is  not,  for  my  purposes  as  poet, 
a  Religion,  and  a  sound  Religious  germenancy  in  the  average 
Human  Race,  at  least  in  their  modern  development  in  the  United 
States,  and  in  the  hardy  common  fibre  and  native  yearnings  and 
elements,  dceper.and  larger,  and  affording  more  profitable  returns, 
than  all  mere  sects  or  churches — as  boundless,  joyous,  and  vital 
as  Nature  itself — A  germenancy  that  has  too  long  been  unen- 
couraged,  unsung,  almost  unknown.  . .  .  With  Science,  the  Old 
Theology  of  the  East,  long  in  its  dotage,  begins  evidently  to  die 
and  disappear.     But  (to  my  mind)  Science — and  may  be  such 
will  prove  its  principal  service — as  evidently  prepares  the  way 
for  One  indescribably  grander — Time's  young  but  perfect  off 
spring — the  New  Theology — heir  of  the  West — lusty  and  loving, 
and  wondrous  beautiful.     For  America,  and  for  to-day,  just  the 
same  as  any  day,  the  supreme  and  final  Science  is  the  Science  of 
God — what  we  call  science  being  only  its  minister — as  Democracy 
is  or  shall  be  also.    And  a  poet  of  America  (I  said)  must  fill  him 
self  with  such  thoughts,  and  chant  his  best  out  of  them 

And  as  those  were  the  convictions  and  aims,  for  good  or  bad,  of 


PREFA  CR.  ix 

LEAVES  OF  GRASS,  they  arc  no  less  the  intention  of  this  Volume. 
As  there  can  be,  in  my  opinion,  no  sane  and  complete  Personality 
— nor  any  grand  and  electric  Nationality,  without  the  stock  ele 
ment  of  Religion  imbuing  all  the  other  elements,  (like  heat  in 
chemistry,  invisible  itself,  but  the  life  of  all  visible  life,)  so  there 
can  be  no  Poetry  worthy  the  name  without  that  element  behind 

all The  time  has  certainly  come  to  begin  to  discharge  the 

idea  of  Religion,  in  the  United  States,  from  mere  ecclesiasticism, 
and  from  Sundays  and  churches  and  church-going,  and  assign  it 
to  that  general  position,  chiefest,  most  indispensable,  most  ex 
hilarating,  to  which  the  others  are  to  be  adjusted,  inside  of  all 
human  character,  and  education,  and  affairs.  The  people,  espe 
cially  the  young  men  and  women  of  America,  must  begin  to  learn 
that  Religion,  (like  Poetry,)  is  something  far,  far  different  from 
what  they  supposed.  It  is,  indeed,  too  important  to  the  power 
and  perpetuity  of  the  New  World  to  be  consigned  any  longer  to 
the  churches,  old  or  new,  Catholic  or  Protestant — Saint  this,  or 
Saint  that. ...  It  must  be  consigned  henceforth  to  Democracy 
en  masse,  and  to  Literature.  It  must  enter  into  the  Poems  of ' 
the  Nation.  It  must  make  the  Nation. 

The  Four  Years'  War  is  over — and  in  the  peaceful,  strong, 
exciting,  fresh  occasions  of  To-day,  and  of  the  Future,  that 
strange,  sad  war  is  hurrying  even  now  to  be  forgotten.  The 
camp,  the  drill,  the  lines  of  sentries,  the  prisons,  the  hospitals, 
— (ah  !  the  hospitals  !) — all  have  passed  away — all  seem  now 
like  a  dream.  A  new  race,  a  young  and  living  generation, 
already  sweeps  in  with  oceanic  currents,  obliterating  that  war, 
and  all  its  scars,  its  mounded  graves,  and  all  its  reminiscences 
of  hatred,  conflict,  death.  So  let  it  be  obliterated.  I  say  the 
life  of  the  present  and  the  future  makes  undeniable  demands 
upon  us  each  and  all,  South,  North,  East,  West.  ...  To  help 
put  the  United  States  (even  if  only  in  imagination)  hand  in 
hand,  in  one  unbroken  circle  in  a  chant — To  rouse  them  to  the 
unprecedented  grandeur  of  the  part  they  are  to  play,  and  are 
even  now  playing — to  the  thought  of  their  great  Future,  and 
the  attitude  conformed  to  it — especially  their  great  Esthetic, 
Moral,  Scientific.  Future,  (of  which  their  vulgar  material  and 


x  PREFACE. 

political  present  is  but  as  the  preparatory  tuning  of  instruments 
by  an  orchestra,) — these,  as  hitherto,  are  still,  for  me,  among 
my  hopes,  ambitions. 

LEAVES  OF  GRASS,  already  published,  is,  in  its  intentions,  the 
song  of  a  great  composite  Democratic  Individual,  male  or 
female.  And  following  on  and  amplifying  the  same  purpose,  I 
suppose  I  have  in  my  mind  to  run  through  the  chants  of  this 
Volume,  (if  ever  completed,)  the  thread-voice,  more  or  less  audi 
ble,  of  an  aggregated,  inseparable,  unprecedented,  vast,  composite, 
electric  Democratic  Nationality. 

Purposing,  then,  to  still  fill  out,  from  time  to  time  through 
years  to  come,  the  following  Volume,  (unless  prevented,)  I  con 
clude  this  Preface  to  the  first  installment  of  it,  pencilled  in 
the  open  air,  on  my  fifty-third  birth-day,  by  wafting  to  you, 
dear  Reader,  whoever  you  are,  (from  amid  the  fresh  scent  of 
the  grass,  the  pleasant  coolness  of  the  forenoon  breeze,  the  lights 
and  shades  of  tree-boughs  silently  dappling  and  playing  around 
me,  and  the  notes  of  the  cat-bird  for  undertone  and  accompa 
niment,)  my  true  good-will  and  love. 

Washington,  D.  C.,  May  31,  1872.  W.  W. 


ONE  SONG,  AMERICA,   BEFORE  I 
GO. 


ONE  song,  America,  before  I  go, 

I'd  sing,  o'er  all  the  rest,  with  trumpet  sound, 

For  thee — the  Future. 


I'd  sow  a  seed  for  thee  of  endless  Nationality ; 
I'd  fashion   thy  Ensemble,   including   Body  and 

Soul; 
Tel  show,  away  ahead,  thy  real  Union,  and  how  it 

may  be  accornplish'd. 

(The  paths  to  the  House  I  seek  to  make, 
But  leave  to  those  to  come,  the  House  itself.) 

Belief  I  sing — and  Preparation  ; 

As  Life  and  Nature  are  not  great  with  reference  to 

the  Present  only, 

But  greater  still  from  what  is  yet  to  come, 
Out  of  that  formula  for  Thee  I  sing. 


SOUVENIRS   OF  DEMOCRACY. 


THE  business  man,  the  acquirer  vast, 

After  assiduous  years,  surveying  results,  preparing 
for  departure, 

Devises  houses  and  lands  to  his  children — bequeaths 
stocks,  goods — funds  for  a  school  or  hos 
pital, 

Leaves  money  to  certain  companions  to  buy  tokens, 
souvenirs  of  gems  and  gold  ; 

Parceling  out  with  care — And  then,  to  prevent  all 
cavilr 

His  name  to  his  testament  formally  signs. 

But  I,  my  life  surveying, 

With  nothing  to  show,  to  devise,  from  its  idle 
years, 

"Nor  houses,  nor  lands — nor  tokens  of  gems  or  gold 
for  my  friends, 

Only  these  Souvenirs  of  Democracy — In  them — in 
all  my  songs — behind  me  leaving, 

To  You,  whoever  you  are,  (bathing,  leavening  this 
leaf  especially  with  my  breath — pressing  on  it 
a  moment  with  my  own  hands  ; 

—Here  !  feel  how  the  pulse  beats  in  my  wrists  I— 
how  my  heart's-blood  is  swelling,  contract 
ing  !) 

I  will  You,  in  all,  Myself,  with  promise  to  never 
desert  you, 

To  which  I  sign  my  name. 


AS  A   STRONG    BIRD    ON 
PINIONS    FREE. 


i. 

As  a  strong  bird  on  pinions  free, 
Joyous,  the  amplest  spaces  heavenward  cleaving, 
Such  be  the  thought  I'd  think  to-day  of  thee,  America, 
Such  be  the  recitative  I'd  bring  to-day  for  thee.* 

The  conceits  of  the  poets  of  other  lands  I  bring  thee 

not, 
Nor  the  compliments  that  have  served  their  turn  so 

long, 
Nor  rhyme — nor  the  classics — nor  perfume  of  foreign 

.  court,  or  indoor  library ; 
But  an   odor   I'd   bring  to-day    as   from    forests   of 

pine  in  the  north,  in  Maine — or  breath  of  an  Illi 
nois  prairie, 
With  open  airs  of  Virginia,  or  Georgia,  or  Tennessee 

— or  from  Texas  uplands,  or  Florida's  glades, 
With  presentment   of  Yellowstone's   scenes,  or  Yo- 

semite  ; 
And  murmuring  tinder,  pervading  all,  I'd  bring  the 

rustling  sea-sound, 
That  endlessly  sounds  from  the  two  great  seas  of  the 

world. 

*  Commencement  Poem,  Dartmouth  College,  N.  H.,  June  26, 
1872,  on  invitation  United  Literary  Societies. 


2  As  A  STRONG  BIRD 

And  for  thy  subtler  sense,  subtler  refrains,  O  Union! 

Preludes  of  intellect  tallying  these  and  tliee — mind- 
formulas  fitted  for  tliee — real,  and  sane,  and  large 
as  these  and  thee  ; 

Thou,  mounting  higher,  diving  deeper  than  we  knew 
— thou  transcendental  Union  ! 

By  thee  Fact  to  be  justified — blended  with  Thought ; 

Thought  of  Man  justified — blended  with  God  : 

Through  thy  Idea — lo  !  the  immortal  Reality  ! 

Through  thy  Eeality — lo  !  the  immortal  Idea  ! 


2, 


Brain  of  the  New  World  I  what  a  task  is  thine ! 

To  formulate  the  Modern Out  of  the  peerless 

grandeur  of  the  modern, 

Out  of  Thyself— comprising  Science — to  recast 
Poems,  Churches,  Art, 

(Recast — may-be  discard  them,  end  them — May-be 
their  work  is  done — who  knows  ?) 

By  vision,  hand,  conception,  on  the  background  of 
the  mighty  past,  the  dead, 

To  limn,  with  absolute  faith,  the  mighty  living  pre 
sent. 

(And  yet,  thou  living,  present  brain !  heir  of  the  dead, 

the  Old  World  brain  ! 
Thou  that  lay  folded,  like  an  unborn  babe,  within  its 

folds  so  long ! 
Thou  carefully  prepared  by  it  so  long ! — haply  thou 

but  unfoldest  it — only  maturest  it  ; 
It  to  eventuate  in  thee — the  essence  of  the  by-gone 

time  contain'd  in  thee  ; 
Its  poems,  churches,  arts,  unwitting  to  themselves, 

destined  with  reference  to  thee, 
The  fruit  of  all  the  Old,  ripening  to-day  in  thee.) 


N  PINIOXS  FREE. 


3. 


Sail — sail  thy  best,  ship  of  Democracy  ! 

Of  value  is  thy  freight — 'tis  not  the  Present  only, 

The  Past  is  also  stored  in  thee ! 

Thou  holdest  not  the  venture  of  thyself  alone — not  of 
thy  western  continent  alone ; 

Earth's  resume  entire  floats  on  thy  keel,  O  ship—  is 
steadied  by  thy  spars ; 

With  thee  Time  voyages  in  trust — the  antecedent 
nations  sink  or  swim  with  thee ; 

With  all  their  ancient  struggles,  martyrs,  heroes, 
epics,  wars,  thou  bear'st  the  other  continents  ; 

Theirs,  theirs  as  much  as  thine,  the  destination- 
port  triumphant : 

— Steer,  steer  with  good  strong  hand  and  wary  eye,  0 
helmsman — thou  carryest  great  companions, 

Venerable,  priestly  Asia  sails  this  day  with  thee, 

And  royal,  feudal  Europe  sails  with  thee. 


Beautiful  World  of  new,  superber  Birth,  that  rises  to 
my  eyes, 

Like  a  limitless  golden  cloud,  filling  the  \\estern  sky ; 

Emblem  of  general  Maternity,  lifted  above  all ; 

Sacred  shape  of  the  bearer  of  daughters  and  sons  ; 

Out  of  thy  teeming  womb,  thy  giant  babes  in  cease 
less  procession  issuing, 

Acceding  from  such  gestation,  taking  and  giving  con 
tinual  strength  and  life ; 

World  of  the  Real !  world  of  the  twain  in  one ! 

World  of  the  Soul — born  by  the  world  of  the  real 
alone — led  to  identity,  body,  by  it  alone  ; 

Yet  in  beginning  only — incalculable  masses  of  compo 
site,  precious  materials, 


4  As  A  STRONG  BIRD 

By  history's  cycles  forwarded — by  every  nation,  lan 
guage,  hither  sent, 

Heady,  collected  here — a  ireer,  vast,  electric  World,  to 
be  constructed  here, 

(The  true  New  World — the  world  of  orbic  Science, 
Morals,  Literatures  to  come,) 

Thou  Wonder  World,  yet  undefined,  unform'd— 
neither  do  I  define  thee  ; 

How  can  I  pierce  the  impenetrable  blank  of  the 
future  ? 

I  feel  thy  ominous  greatness,  evil  as  well  as  good  ; 

I  watch  thee,  advancing,  absorbing  the  present, 
transcending  the  past ; 

I  see  thy  light  lighting  and  thy  shadow  shadowing, 
as  if  the  entire  globe  ; 

But  I  do  not  undertake  to  define  thee — hardly  ta  com 
prehend  thee ; 

I  but  thee  name — thee  prophecy — as  now ! 

I  merely  thee  ejaculate  ! 


Thee  in  thy  future ; 

Thee  in  thy  only  permanent  life,  career— thy  own 
unloosen'd  mind — thy  soaring  spirit ; 

Thee  as  another  equally  needed  sun,  America — ra 
diant,  ablaze,  swift-moving,  fructifying  all ; 

Thee !  risen  in  thy  potent  cheerfulness  and  joy — thy 
endless,  great  hilarity ! 

(Scattering  for  good  the  cloud  that  hung  so  long — 
that  weigh'd  so  long  upon  the  mind  of  man, 

The  doubt,  suspicion,  dread,  of  gradual,  certain  deca 
dence  of  man ;) 

Thee  in  thy  larger,  saner  breeds  of  Female,  Male — • 
thee  in  thy  athletes,  moral,  spiritual,  South, 
North,  West,  East, 

(To  thy  immortal  breasts,  Mother  of  All,  thy  every 
daughter,  son,  endear' d  alike,  forever  equal ;) 

Thee  in  thy  own  musicians,  singers,  artists,  unborn 
yet,  but  certain ; 


o.v  P/AYO.VS  FREE.  5 

Thee  in  thy  moral  wealth  and  civilization,  (until 
which  thy  proudest  material  wealth  and  civiliza 
tion  must  remain  in  vain ;) 

Thee  in  thy  all-supplying,  all-enclosing  "Worship — 
thee  in  no  single  bible,  saviour,  merely, 

Thy  saviours  countless,  latent  within  thyself — thy 
bibles  incessant,  within  thyself,  equal  to  any, 
divine  as  any  ; 

Thee  in  an  education  grown  of  thee — in  teachers, 
studies,  students,  born  of  thee  ; 

Thee  in  thy  democratic  fetes,  en  masse — thy  high 
original  festivals,  operas,  lecturers,  preachers ; 

Thee  in  thy  ultimata,  (the  preparations  only  .now 
completed  —  the  edifice  on  sure  foundations 
tied,) 

Thee  in  thy  pinnacles,  intellect,  thought — thy  top 
most  rational  joys — thy  love,  and  godlike  aspira 
tion, 

In  thy  resplendent  coming  literati — thy  full-lung'd 
orators — thy  sacerdotal  bards — kosmic  savans, 

These !  these  in  thee,  (certain  to  come,)  to-day  I  pro 
phecy. 


Land  tolerating  all — accepting  all — not  for  the  good 
alone — all  good  .for  thee  ; 

Land  in  the  realms  of  God  to  be  a  realm  unto  thy 
self ; 

Under  the  rule  of  God  to  be  a  rule  unto  thyself. 


(Lo  !  where  arise  three  peerless  stars, 
To  be  thy  natal  stars,  my  country — Ensemble — Evo 
lution — Freedom , 
Set  in  the  sky  of  Law.) 


6  As  A  STRONG  BIRD 

Land  of  unprecedented  f aitli — God's  faith ! 

Thy  soil,  thy  very  subsoil,  all  upheav'd  ; 

The  general  inner  earth,  so  long,  so  sedulously  draped 

over,  now  and  hence  for  what  it  is,  boldly  laid 

bare, 
Open'd  by  thee  to  heaven's  light,  for  benefit  or  bale. 

Not  for  success  alone  ; 

Not  to  fair-sail  un intermitted  always  ; 

The  storm  shall  dash  thy  face — the  murk  of  war,  and 

worse  than  war,  shall  cover  thee  all  over ; 
(Wert  capable  of  war — its  tug  and  trials  ?     Be  capa 
ble  of  peace,  its  trials  ; 
For  the  tug  and  mortal  strain  of  nations  come  at  last 

in  peace — not  war ;) 

In  many  a  smiling  mask  death  shall  approach,  be 
guiling  thee — thou  in  disease  shalt -swelter  ; 
The  livid  cancer  spread  its  hideous  claws,  clinging 

upon  thy   breasts,   seeking  to  strike  thee  deep 

within ; 
Consumption    of    the   worst — moral    consumption — 

shall  rouge  thy  face  with  hectic  : 
But  thou  shalt  face  thy  fortunes,  thy  diseases,  and 

surmount  them  all, 
Whatever  they  are  to-day,  and  whatever  through  time 

they  may  be, 
They  each  and  all  shall  lift,  and  pass  away,  and  cease 

from  thee ; 
While  thou,  Time's  spirals  rounding — out  of  thyself, 

thyself  still  extricating,  fusing, 
Equable,  natural,  mystical  Union  thou — (the  mortal 

with  immortal  blent,) 
Shalt  soar  toward  the  fulfilment  of  the  future — the 

spirit  of  the  body  and  the  mind, 
The  Soul — its  destinies. 

The  Soul,  its  destinies — the  real  real, 
(Purport  of  all  these  apparitions  of  the  real ;) 


ON  PINIONS  FREE.  7 

In  tliee,  America,  tlie  Soul,  its  destinies  ; 

Thou  globe  of  globes !  thou  wonder  nebulous*! 

By  many  a  throe  of  heat  and  cold   convuls'd — (by 

these  thyself  solidifying ;) 
Thou  mental,  moral  orb  !    thou   New,  indeed   new, 

Spiritual  World ! 
The  Present  holds  thee  not — for  such  vast  growth  as 

thine — for  such  unparallel'd  flight  as  thine, 
The  Future  only  holds  thee,  and  can  hold  thee. 


THE    MYSTIC    TRUMPETER. 


1. 

HARK  !  some  wild  trumpeter — some  strange  musician, 
Hovering  unseen  in  air,  vibrates  capricious  tunes  to 
night. 

I  hear  tliee,  trumpeter — listening,  alert,  I  catch  thy 

notes, 

Now  pouring,  whirling  like  a  tempest  round  me, 
JSTow  low,  subdued — now  in  the  distance  lost. 


2. 

Come  nearer,  bodiless  one — haply,  in  thee  resounds 
Some  dead  composer — haply  thy  pensive  life 
Was  fill'd  with  aspirations  high — unform'd  ideals, 
Waves,  oceans  musical,  chaotically  surging, 
That  now,  ecstatic  ghost,  close  to  me  bending,  thy 

cornet  echoing,  pealing, 
Gives  out  to  no  one's  ears  but  mine — but  freely  gives 

to  mine, 
That  I  may  thec  translate. 


3. 

Blow,  trumpeter,  free  and  clear — I  follow  thee, 
While  at  thy  liquid  prelude,  glad,  serene, 
The  fretting  world,  the  streets,  the  noisy  hours  of 
day,  withdraw ; 


THE  MYSTIC  TRUMPETER.  Q 

A  holy  calm  descends,  like  dew,  upon  me, 

I  walk,  in  cool  refreshing  night,  the  walks  of  Para 
dise, 

I  scent  the  grass,  the  moist  air,  and  the  roses ; 

Thy  song  expands  my  numb'd,  unbonded  spirit — thou 
freest,  launchest  me, 

Floating  and  basking  upon  Heaven's  lake. 


4. 

Blow  again,  trumpeter !  and  for  my  sensuous  eyes, 
Bring  the  old  pageants — show  the  feudal  world. 

What  charm  thy  music  works! — thou  makest  pass  be 
fore  me, 
Ladies  and  cavaliers  long  dead — barons  are  in  their 

castle  halls — the  troubadours  are  singing  ; 
Arm'd  knights  go  forth  to  redress  wrongs — some  in 

quest  of  the  Holy  Graal : 
I  see  the  tournament — I  see  the  contestants,  encased 

in  heavy   armor,    seated  on   stately,   champing 

horses ; 
I  hear  the  shouts — the  sounds  of  blows  and  smiting 

steel : 
I  see  the  Crusaders'  tumultuous  armies — Hark  !  how 

the  cymbals  clang ! 
Lo  !  where  the  monks  walk  in  advance,  bearing  the 

cross  on  high  ! 


5. 

Blow  again,  trumpeter  !  and  for  thy  theme, 

Take  now  the  enclosing  theme  of  all — the  solvent  and 

the  setting  ; 
Love,  that  is  pulse   of  all — the  sustenance  and  the 

pang ; 


10  THE  JTrsr/c  TRUMPETER. 

The  heart  of  man  and  woman  all  for  love  : 
No  other  theme  but  love — knitting,  enclosing, 
fusing  love. 


O,  how  the  immortal  phantoms  crowd  around  me ! 
B  the  vast  alembic  ever  working — I  see  and  know 

the  flames  that  heat  the  world  ; 
The  glow,  the  blush,  the  beating  hearts  of  lov;    . 
So  blissful  happy  some — and  some  so  silent,  dark,  and 

nigh  to  death : 
Love,  that  is  all  the  earth  to  lovers — Love,  that  mocks 

time  and  space : 
Love,  that  is  day  and  night — Love,  that  is  sun  and 

moon  and  stars ; 
Love,  that  is  crimson,  sumptuous,  sick  with  perfume  ; 

i-ther  words,  but  words  of  love — no  other  thought 

bnt  Love. 


6. 
Blow  again,  trumpeter — conjure  war's  wild  alarums. 

Swift   to  thy  spell,   a  shuddering  hum  like  distant 

thunder  ro. 
Lo  !   where  the  arm'd  men  hasten — Lo  !    mid  the 

clouds  of  dust,  the  glint  of  bayonets  : 
I  see  the  grime-faced  cannoniers — I  mark  the  rosy 

flash  amid  the  smoke — I  hear  the  cracking  of  the 
^gnns: 
— ^N  or  war  alone — thy  fearful  music-song,  wild  player, 

brings  every  sight  of  fear, 
The  deeds  of  ruthless  brigands — rapine,  murder — I 

hear  the  cries  for  help"! 
I  see  ships  foundering  at  sea — I  behold  on  deck,  and 

below  deck,  the  terrible  tableaux. 


THE  J/r.s-77c-  TRUMPETER.  11 


0  trumpeter  !   methinks  I  am  myself  the  instrument 

thou  playest ! 
Thou  rnelt*st"my  heart,  my  brain — thou  movest,  draw- 

est,  changest  them,  at  will : 

And  now  thy  sullen  notes  send  darkness  through  me ; 
Thou  takest"away  all  cheering  light — all  hope  : 

1  see  the  enslaved,  the  overthrown,  the  hurt,  the  op- 

prest  of  the  whole  earth  ; 

I  feel  the  measureless  shame  and  humiliation  of  my 
race — it  becomes  all  mine ; 

Mine  too  the  revenges  of  humanity — the  wrongs  of 
ages— baffled  feuds  and  hatreds"; 

Utter  defeat  upon  me  weighs — all  lost !  the  foe  vic 
torious  ! 

Yet  7inid  the  ruins  Pride  colossal  stands,  unshaken  to 
the  last ; 

Endurance,  resolution,  to  the  last.) 


Xow,  trumpeter,  for  thy  close, 

Vouchsafe  a  higher  strain  than  any  yet ; 

Sing  to  my  soul — renew  its   languishing   faith    and 

hope ; 
Rouse  up  niy  slow  belief — give  me  some  vision  of  the 

future ; 
Give  me.  for  once,  its  prophecy  and  joy. 

O  glad,  exulting,  culminating  song  ! 
A  victor  more  than  earth's  is  in  thy  notes  ! 
Marches    of    victory — man    disenthralTd — the    con 
queror  at  last  ! 


12  THE  MYSTIC  TRUMPETER. 

Hymns  to  the  universal  God,  from  universal  Man — 

all  joy  ! 

A  reborn  race  appears — a  perfect  World,  all  joy  ! 
Women  and  Men,  in  wisdom,  innocence  and  health — 

all  joy  ! 

Riotous,  laughing  bacchanals,  fill'cl  with  joy  ! 
War,  sorrow,  Buffering  gone — The  rank  earth  purged 

— nothing  but  joy  left ! 

The  ocean  fill'd  with  joy — the  atmosphere  all  joy  ! 
Joy !  Joy  !    in  freedom,  worship,  love  !    Joy  in  the 

ecstacy  of  life ! 

Enough  to  merely  be !    Enough  to  breathe ! 
Joy  !  Joy  !  all  over  Joy ! 


O    STAR    OF  FRANCE! 

1870-71. 

1. 

O  STAE  of  France  ! 

The  brightness  of  thy  hope  and  strength  and  fame, 
Like  some  proud  ship  that  led  the  fleet  so  long, 
Beseems  to-day  a  wreck,  driven  by  the  gale — a  mast- 
less  hulk ; 
And    'mid    its     teeming,    madden'd,    half-drown'd 

crowds, 
Nor  helm  nor  helmsman. 

2. 

Dim,  smitten  star ! 

Orb  not  oftFrance  alone — pale  symbol  of  my  soul,  its 

dearest  hopdS, 

The  struggle  and  the  daring — rage-divine  for  liberty, 
Of    aspirations   toward    the    far   ideal — enthusiast's 

dreams  of  brotherhood, 
Of  terror  to  the  tyrant  and  the  priest. 

3. 

Star  crucified  !  by  traitors  sold  ! 

Star  panting  o'er  a  land  of  death — heroic  land  ! 

Strange,  passionate,  mocking,  frivolous  land. 

Miserable  !  yet  for  thy  errors,  vanities,  sins,  I  will  not 

now  rebuke  thee ; 
Thy  unexampled  woes  and  pangs  have  quell'd  them 

all, 
And  left  thee  sacred. 


14  0  STAR  OF  FRANCE ! 

In   that  amid  thy  many  faults,   thou  ever  aimedst 

highly, 
In  that  thou  wouldst  not  really  sell  thyself,  however 

great  the  price, 
In    that    thou    surely   wakedst   weeping   from   thy 

drugg'd  sleep, 
In  that  alone,  among  thy  sisters,  thou,  Giantess,  didst 

rend  the  ones  that  shamed  thee, 
In  that  thou  couldst  not,  wouldst  not,  wear  the  usual 

chains, 

This  cross,  thy  livid  face,  thy  pierced  hands  and  feet, 
The  spear  thrust  in  thy  side. 


4. 

O  star  !  O  ship  of  France,  beat  back  and  baffled  long  ! 
Bear  up,  O  smitten  orb  !     0  ship,  continue  on  ! 

Sure,  as  the  ship  of  all,  the  Earth  itself, 
Product  of  deathly  fire  and  turbulent  chaos, 
Forth  from  its  spasms  of  fury  and  its  poisons, 
Issuing  at  last  in  perfect  power  and  beauty, 
Onward,  beneath  the  sun,  following  its  course, 
So  thee,  O  ship  of  France  ! 

Finished  the  days,  the  clouds  dispell'd, 
The  travail  o'er,  the  long-sought  extrication, 
When  lo  !  reborn,  high  o'er  the  European  world, 
(In  gladness,  answering  thence,  as  face-  afar  to  face, 

reflecting  ours,  Columbia,) 
Again  thy  star,  0  France — fair,  lustrous  star, 
In  heavenly  peace,  clearer,  more  bright  than  ever, 
Shall  beam  immortal. 


VIRGINIA— THE    WEST. 

1. 

THE  noble  Sire,  fallen  on  evil  days, 

I  saw,  with  hand  uplifted,  menacing,  brandishing, 

(Memories  of   old   in  abeyance — love  and   faith   in 

abeyance,) 
The  insane  knife  toward  the  Mother  of  All. 


2. 


The  noble  Son,  on  sinewy  feet  advancing, 

I  saw — out  of  the  land  of  prairies — land  of  Ohio's 

waters,  and  of  Indiana, 
To  the  rescue,  the  stalwart  giant,  hurry  his  plenteous 

offspring, 
Drest  in  blue,   bearing  their  trusty  rifles  on   their 

shoulders. 


3. 


Then  the  Mother  of  All,  with  calm  voice  speaking, 
As  to  you,  Virginia,  (I  seemed  to  hear  her  say,)  why 

strive  against  me — and  why  seek  my  life  \ 
When  you  yourself  forever  provide  to  defend  me  ? 
For  you  provided  me  Washington — and  now  these  also. 


BY  BROAD  POTOMACS  SHORE. 

1. 

BY  broad  Potomac's  shore — again,  old  tongue  ! 
(Still  littering — still  ejaculating — canst  never   cease 

this  babble  ?) 
Again,  old  heart  so  gay — again  to  you,  your  sense, 

the  full  flush  spring  returning  ; 
Again  the  freshness  and  the  odors — again  Virginia's 

summer  sky,  pellucid  blue  and  silver, 
Again  the  forenoon  purple  of  the  hills, 
Again  the  deathless  grass,  so  noiseless,  soft  and  green, 
Again  the  blood-red  roses  blooming. 


Perfume  this  book  of  mine,  O  blood-red  roses  ! 
Lave  subtly  with  your  waters  every  line,  Potomac ! 
Give  me  of    you,  O  spring,  before  I  close,  to  put 

between  its  pages ! 

O  forenoon  purple  of  the  hills,  before  I  close,  of  you ! 
O  smiling  earth — O  summer  sun,  give  me  of  you ! 
0  deathless  grass,  of  you  ! 


MEMORANDA 


BY  WALT  WHITMAN. 


Author*  x  Publication. 


187,r>—  '70. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

WALT  WHITMAN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


NKAV  REPUBLIC  PUINT, 
Federal  St.,  CHUN  leu 


MEMORANDA,  &c. 


DURING  the  Union  War  I  commenced  at  the  close  of  1862, 
and  continued  steadily  through  '63,  '64  and  '65,  to  visit  the 
sick  and  wounded  of  the  Army,  both  on  the  field  and  in  the 
Hospitals  in  and  around  Washington  city.  From  the  first  I 
kept  little  note-books  for  impromptu  jottings  in  pencil  to  re 
fresh  my  memory  of  names  and  circumstances,  and  what  was 
specially  wanted,  &c.  In  these  I  brief'd  cases,  persons, 
sights,  occurrences  in  camp,  by  the  bedside,  and  not  seldom 
by  the  corpses  of  the  dead.  Of  the  present  Volume  most  of 
it's  pages  are  verbatim  renderings  from  such  pencillings  on 
the  spot.  Some  were  scratch'd  down  from  narratives  I  heard 
and  itemized  while  watching,  or  waiting,  or  tending  some 
body  amid  those  scenes.  I  have  perhaps  forty  such  little 
note-books  left,  forming  a  special  history  of  those  years,  for 
myself  alone,  full  of  associations  never  to  be  possibly  said 
or  sung.  I  wish  I  could  convey  to  the  reader  the  associa 
tions  that  attach  to  these  soil'd  and  creas'd  little  livraisons, 
each  composed  of  a  sheet  or  two  of  paper,  folded  small  to 
carry  in  the  pocket,  and  fasten'd  with  a  pin.  I  leave  them 
just  as  I  threw  them  by  during  the  War,  blotclrd  here  and 
there  with  more  than  one  blood-stain,  hurriedly  written, 
sometimes  at  the  clinique,  not  seldom  amid  the  excitement 
of  uncertainty,  or  defeat,  or  of  action,  or  getting  ready  for  it, 
or  a  march.  'Even  these  days,  at  the  lapse  of  many  years,  I 
can  never  turn  their  tiny  leaves,  or  even  take  one  in  my 
hand,  without  the  actual  army  sights  and  hot  emotions  of  the 
time  rushing  like  a  river  in  full  tide  through  me.  Each  line, 
each  scrawl,  each  memorandum,  has  its  history.  Some  pang 
of  anguish — some  tragedy,  profounder  than  ever  poet  wrote. 
Out  of  them  arise  active  and  breathing  forms.  They  sum 
mon  up,  even  in  this  silent  and  vacant  room  as  I  write,  not 
only  the  sinewy  regiments  and  brigades,  marching  or  in 
camp,  but  the  countless  phantoms  of  those  who  fell  and  were 
hastily  buried  by  wholesale  in  the  battle-pits,  or  whose  dust 
and  bones  have  been  since  removed  to  the  National  Ceme 
teries  of  the  land,  especially  through  Virginia  and  Tennes 
see.  (Not,  Northern  soldiers  only — many  indeed  the  Caro 
linian,  Georgian,  Alabatnian,  Louisianian,  Virginian— many 
a  Southern  face  and  form,  pale,  emaciated,  with  that  strange 
tie  of  confidence  and  love  between  us,  welded  by  sickness, 
pain  of  wounds,  and  little  daily,  nightly  offices  of  nursing  and 
friendly  words  and  visits,  comes  up  amid  the  rest,  and  does 


4  MEMORANDA 

not  mar,  but  rounds  and  gives  a  finish  to  the  meditation.) 
Yivid  as  life,  they  recall  and  identify  the  long  Hospital 
Wards,  with  their  myriad-varied  scenes  of  day  or  night — the 
graphic  incidents  of  field  or  camp — the  night  before  the  bat 
tle,  with  many  solemn  yet  cool  preparations — the  changeful 
exaltations  and  depressions  of  those  four  years,  North  and 
South — the  convulsive  memories,  (let  but  a  word,  a  broken 
sentence,  serve  to  recall  them) — the  clues  already  quite  van- 
ish'd,  like  some  old  dream,  and  yet  the  list  significant  enough 
to  soldiers— the  scrawl'd,  worn  slips  of  paper  that  came  up 
by  bushels  from  the  Southern  prisons,  Salisbury  or  Anderson- 
ville,  by  the  hands  of  exchanged  prisoners — the  clank  of 
crutches  on  the  pavements  or  floors  of  Washington,  or  UD 
and  down  the  stairs  of  the  Paymasters'  offices— the  Grand 
Review  of  homebound  veterans  at  the  close  of  the  War, 
cheerily  marching  day  after  day  by  the  President's  house, 
one  brigade  succeeding  another  until  it  seem'd  as  if  they 
would  never  end — the  strange  squads  of  Southern  desert 
ers,  (escapees,  I  call'd  them ;) — that  little  genre  group,  un- 
reck'd  amid  the  mighty  whirl,  I  remember  passing  in  a  hos 
pital  corner,  of  a  dying  Irish  boy,  a  Catholic  priest,  and  an 
improvised  altar — Four  years  compressing  centuries  of  native 
passion,  first-class  pictures,  tempests  of  life  and  death — an 
inexhaustible  mine  for  the  Histories,  Drama,  Eomance  and 
even  Philosophy  of  centuries  to  come — indeed  the  Verteber 
of  Poetry  and  Art,  (of  personal  character  too,)  for  all  future 
America,  (far  more  grand,  in  my  opinion,  to  the  hands 
capable  of  it,  than  H'bmer's  siege  of  Troy,  or  the  French 
wars  to  Shakspere  ;) — and  looking  over  all,  in  my  remem 
brance,  the  tall  form  of  President  Lincoln,  with  his  face  of 
deep-cut  lines,  with  the  large,  kind,  canny  eyes,  the  com 
plexion  of  dark  brown,  and  the  tinge  of  wierd  melancholy 
saturating  all. 

More  and  more,  in  my  recollections  of  that  period,  and 
through  its  varied,  multitudinous  oceans  and  murky  whirls, 
appear  the  central  resolution  and  sternness  of  the  bulk  of 
the  average  American  People,  animated  in  Soul  by  a  defi 
nite  purpose,  though  sweeping  and  fluid  as  some  great 
storm — the  Common  People,  emblemised  in  thousands  of 
specimens  of  first-class  Heroism,  steadily  accumulating,  (no 
regiment,  no  company,  hardly  a  file  of  men,  North  or  South, 
the  last  three  years,  without  such  first-class  specimens.) 

I  know  not  how  it  may  have  been,  or  may  be,  to  others — 
to  me  the  main  interest  of  the  War,  I  found,  (and  still,  on 
recollection,  find,)  in  those  specimens,  and  in  the  ambulance, 
the  Hospital,  and  even  the  dead  on  the  field.  To  me,  the 
points  illustrating  the  latent  Personal  Character  and  eligi 
bilities  of  These  States,  in  the  two  or  three  millions  of  Ameri 
can  young  and  middle-aged  men,  North  and  South,  embodied 
in  the  armies— and  especially  the  one-third  or  one-fourth  of 


DURING  THE  WAR.  5 

their  number,  stricken  by  wounds  or  disease  at  some  time 
in  the  course  of  the  contest — were  of  more  significance  even 
than  the  Political  interests  involved.  (As  so  much  of  a  Race 
depends  on  what  it  thinks  of  death,  and  how  it  stands  per 
sonal  anguish  and  sickness.  As,  in  the  glints  of  emotions 
under  emergencies,  and  the  indirect  traits  and  asides  in 
Plutarch,  &c.,  we  get  far  profounder  clues  to  the  antique 
world  than  all  its  more  formal  history.) 

Future  years  will  never  know  the  seething  hell  and  the 
black  infernal  background  of  countless  minor  scenes  and  in 
teriors,  (not  the  few  great  battles)  of  the  Secession  War  ;  and 
it  is  best  they  should  not.  In  the  mushy  influences  of  cur 
rent  times  the  fervid  atmosphere  and  typical  events  of  those 
years  are  in  danger  of  being  totally  forgotten.  I  have  at  night 
watch'd  by  the  side  of  a  sick  man  in  the  hospital,  one  who 
could  not  live  many  hours.  I  have  seen  his  eyes  flash  and 
burn  as  he  recurr'd  to  the  cruelties  on  his  surrender'd  bro 
ther,  and  mutilations  of  the  corpse  afterward.  [See,  in  the 
following  pa^es,  the  incident  at  Upperville — the  seventeen, 
kill'd  as  in  the  description,  were  left  there  on  the  ground. 
After  they  dropt  dead,  no  one  touch'd  them — all  were  made 
sure  of,  however.  The  carcasses  were  left  for  the  citizens 
to  bury  or  not,  as  they  chose.] 

Such  was  the  War.  It  was  not  a  quadrille  in  a  ball-room. 
Its  interior  history  will  not  only  never  be  written.  Its  prac 
ticality,  minutia  of  deeds  and  passions,  will  never  be  even 
suggested.  The  actual  Soldier  of  1862-'65,  North  and  South, 
with  all  his  ways,  his  incredible  dauntlessness,  habits,  prac 
tices,  tastes,  language,  his  appetite,  rankness,  his  superb 
strength  and  animality,  lawless  gait,  and  a  hundred  unnamed 
lights  and  shades  of  camp — I  say,  will  never  be  written — 
perhaps  must  not  and  should  not'be. 

The  present  Memoranda  may  furnish  a  few  stray  glimpses 
into  that  life,  and  into  those  lurid  interiors  of  the  period, 
never  to  be  fully  convey'd  to  the  future.  For  that  purpose, 
and  for  what  goes  along  with  it,  the  Hospital  part  of  the 
drama  from  '61  to  '65,  deserves  indeed  to  be  recorded — (I  but 
suggest  it.)  Of  that  many-threaded  drama,  with  its  sudden 
and  strange  surprises,  its  confounding  of  prophecies,  its  mo 
ments  of  despair,  the  dread  of  foreign  interference,  the  in 
terminable  campaigns,  the  bloody  battles,  the  mighty  and 
cumbrous  and  green  armies,  the  drafts  and  bounties — the 
immense  money  expenditure,  like  a  heavy  pouring  constant 
rain— with,  over  the  whole  land,  the  last  three  years  of  the 
struggle,  an  unending,  universal  mourning-wail  of  women, 
parents,  orphans — the  marrow  of  the  tragedy  concentrated 
in  those  Hospitals— (it  seem'd  sometimes  as  if  the  whole  in 
terest  of  the  land,  North  and  South,  was  one  vast  central 
Hospital,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  affair  but  flanges)— those 
forming  the  Untold  and  Unwritten  His.tory  of  the  War — in- 


6  MEMORANDA 

finitely  greater  (like  Life's)  than  the  few  scraps  and  distor 
tions  that  are  ever  told  or  written.  Think  how  much,  and 
of  importance,  will  be— how  much,  civic  and  military,  has 

already  been— buried  in  the  grave,  in  eternal  darkness  ! 

But  to  my  Memoranda. 

FALMOUTH,  YA.,  opposite  Fredericksburgh,  December  21, 
1862. — Began  my  visits  among  the  Camp  Hospitals  in  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  Spent  a  good  part  of  the  day  in  a 
large  brick  mansion,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rappahannock, 
used  as  a  Hospital  since  the  battle— Seems  to  have  receiv'd 
only  the  worst  cases.  Out  doors,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  within 
ten  yards  of  the  front  of  the  house,  I  notice  a  heap  of  ampu 
tated  feet,  legs,  arms,  hands,  &c.,  a  full  load  for  a  one-horse 
cart.  Several  dead  bodies  lie  near,  each  cover'd  with  its 
brown  woollen  blanket.  In  the  door-yard,  towards  the  river, 
are  fresh  graves,  mostly  of  officers,  their  names  on  pieces  of 
barrel-staves  or  broken  board,  stuck  in  the  dirt.  (Most  of 
these  bodies  were  subsequently  taken  up  and  transported 

]S"orth  to  their  friends.) The  large  mansion  is  quite 

crowded,  upstairs  and  down,  everything  impromptu,  no  sys 
tem,  all  bad  enough,  but  I  have  no  doubt  the  best  that  can  be 
done ;  all  the  wounds  pretty  bad,  some  frightful,  the  men  in 
their  old  clothes,  unclean  and  bloody.  Some  of  the  wounded 
are  rebel  soldiers  and  officers,  prisoners.  One,  a  Mississip- 
pian — a  captain — hit  badly  in  leg,  I  talk'd  with  some  time  ; 
he  ask'd  me  for  papers,  which  I  gave  him.  (I  saw  him 
three  months  afterward  in  Washington,  with  his  leg  ampu 
tated,  doing  well.) I  went  through  the  rooms,  down 
stairs  and  up.  Some  of  the  men  were  dying.  I  had  nothing 
to  give  at  that  visit,  but  wrote  a  few  letters  to  folks  home, 
mothers,  &c.  Also  talk'd  to  three  or  tour,  who  seem'd  most 
susceptible  to  it,  and  needing  it. 

(Everything  is  quiet  now,  here  about  Falmouth  and  the 
Rappahannock,  but  there  was  noise  enough  a  week  or  so  ago. 
Probably  the  earth  never  shook  by  artificial  means,  nor  the 
air  reverberated,  more  than  on  that  winter  daybreak  of  eight 
or  nine  days  since,  when  Gen.  Burnside  order'd  all  the  bat 
teries  of  the  army  to  combine  for  the  bombardment  of  Fred- 
ericksburgh.  It  was  in  its  way  the  most  magnificent  and 
terrible  spectacle,  with  all  the  adjunct  of  sound,  throughout 
the  War,  The  perfect  hush  of  the  just-ending  night  was  sud 
denly  broken  by  the  first  gun,  and  in  an  instant  all  the 
thunderers,  big  and  little,  were  in  full  chorus,  which  they 
kept  up  without  intermission  for  several  hours.) 

December  23  to  31. — The  results  of  the  late  battles  are  ex 
hibited  everywhere  about  here  in  thousands  of  cases,  (hun 
dreds  die  every  day,)  in  the  Camp,  Brigade,  and  Division 
Hospitals.  These  are  merely  tents,  and  sometimes  very 
poor  ones,  the  wounded  lying  on  the  ground,  lucky  if  their 
blankets  are  spread  on  layers  of  pine  or  hemlock  twigs  or 


DURING  THE  WAR.  7 

small  leaves.  No  cots ;  seldom  even  a  mattress.  It  is 
pretty  cold.  The  ground  is  frozen  hard,  and  there  is  occa 
sional  snow.  I  go  around  from  one  case  to  another.  I  do  not 
see  that  I  do  much  good,  but  I  cannot  leave  them.  Once  in 
a  while  some  youngster  holds  on  to  me  convulsively,  and  I 
do  what  I  can  for  him ;  at  any  rate,  stop  with  him  and  sit 
near  him  for  hours,  if  he  wishes  it. 

Besides  the  hospitals,  I  also  go  occasionally  on  long  tours 
through  the  camps,  talking  with  the  men,  &c.  Sometimes 
at  night  among  the  groups  around  the  fires,  in  their  shebang 
enclosures  of  bushes.  These  are  curious  shows,  full  of 
characters  and  groups.  I  soon  get  acquainted  anywhere  in 
camp,  with  officers  or  men,  and  am  always  well  used.  Some 
times  I  go  down  on  picket  with  the  regiments  I  know 

best As  to  rations,  the  army  here  at  present  seems  to 

be  tolerably  well  supplied,  and  the  men  have  enough,  such 
as  it  is,  mainly  salt  pork  and  hard  tack.  Most  of  the  regi 
ments  lodge  in  the  flimsy  little  shelter-tents.  A  few  have 
built  themselves  huts  of  logs  and  mud,  with  fireplaces. 

WASHINGTON,  January,  '63. — Left  camp  at  Falmouth, 
with  some  wounded,  a  few  days  since,  and  came  here  by 
Aquia  Creek  railroad,  and  so  on  Government  steamer  up 
the  Potomac.  Many  wounded  were  with  us  on  the  cars  and 
boat.  The  cars  were  just  common  platform  ones.  The  rail 
road  journey  often  or  twelve  miles  was  made  mostly  before 
sunrise.  The  soldiers  guarding  the  road  came  out  from  their 
tents  or  shebangs  of  bushes  with  rumpled  hair  and  half- 
awake  look.  Those  on  duty  were  walking  their  posts,  some 
on  banks  over  us,  others  down  far  below  the  level  of  the 
track.  I  saw  large  cavalry  camps  off  the  road.  At  Aquia 
Creek  landing  were  numbers  of  wounded  going  North. 
While  I  waited  some  three  hours,  I  went  around  among 
them.  Several  wanted  word  sent  home  to  parents,  brothers, 
wives,  &c.,  ^hich  I  did  for  them,  (by  mail  the  next  day  from 
Washington.)  On  the  boat  I  had  my  hands  full.  One  poor 
fellow  died  going  up. 

I  am  now  remaining  in  and  around  Washington,  daily 
visiting  the  hospitals.  Am  much  in  Patent  Office,  Eighth 
street,  H  street,  Armory  Square  and  others.  Am  now  able 
to  do  a  little  good,  having  money,  (as  almoner  of  others 
home,)  and  getting  experience To-day,  Sunday  after 
noon  and  till  nine  in  the  evening,  visited  Campbell  Hospital ; 
attended  specially  to  one  case  in  Ward  1 ;  very  sick  with 
pleurisy  and  typhoid  fever;  young  man,  farmer's  son,  D.  F. 
Russell,  Company  E,  Sixtieth  New  York ;  downhearted  And 
feeble ;  a  long  time  before  he  would  take  any  interest ; 
wrote  a  letter  home  to  his  mother,  in  Malone,  Franklin 
County,  N.  T.,  at  his  request ;  gave  him  some  fruit  and  one 
or  two  other  gifts:  envelop'd  and  directed  his  letter,  &c 
Then  went  thoroughly  through  Ward  6 ;  observ'd  every 


8  MEMORANDA 

case  in  the  Ward,  without,  I  think,  missing  one  ;  gave  per 
haps  from  twenty  to  thirty  persons,  each  one  some  little 
gift,  such  as  oranges,  apples,  sweet  crackers,  figs,  &c. 

TJmrsday,  Jan.  21. — Devoted  the  main  part  of  the  day  to 
Armory  Square  Hospital ;  went  prett}r  thoroughly  through 
Wards  F,  G,  H,  and  I  ;  some  fifty  cases  in  each  Ward.  In 
Ward  F  supplied  the  men  throughout  with  writing  paper 
and  stamp'd  envelope  each  ;  distributed  in  small  portions, 
to  proper  subjects,  a  large  jar  of  first-rate  preserv'd  berries, 
which  had  been  donated  to  me  by  a  lady — her  own  cooking. 
Found  several  cases  I  thought  good  subjects  for  small  sums 
of  money,  which  I  furnish'd.  (The  wounded  men  often 
come  up  broke,  and  it  helps  their  spirits  to  have  even  the 
small  sum  I  give  them.)  My  paper  and  envelopes  all  gone, 
but  distributed  a  good  lot  of  amusing  reading  matter  ;"also, 
as  I  thought  judicious,  tobacco,  oranges,  apples,  &c.  In 
teresting  cases  in  Ward  I ;  Charles  Miller,  bed  No.  19,  Com 
pany  D,  Fifty-third  Pennsylvania,  is  only  sixteen  years  of 
age,  very  bright,  courageous  boy,  left  leg  amputated  below 
the  knee;  next  bed  to  him,  another  young  lad  very  sick; 
gave  each  appropriate  gifts.  In  the  bed  above,  also,  ampu 
tation  of  the  left  leg  ;  gave  him  a  little  jar  of  raspberries  ; 
bed  No.  1,  this  Ward,  gave  a  small  sum  ;  also  to  a  soldier  on 

crutches,  sitting  on  his  bed  near (I  am  more  and  more 

surprised  at  the  very  great  proportion  of  youngsters  from 
fifteen  to  twenty-one  in  the  army.  I  afterwards  found  a  still 
greater  proportion  among  the  Southerners.) 

Evening,  same  day,  went  to  see  D.  F.  R.,  before  alluded 
to;  found  him  remarkably  changed  for  the  better;  up  and 
dress 'd — quite  a  triumph  ;  he  afterwards  got.  well,  and  went 

back  to  his  regiment Distributed  in  the  Wards  a 

quantity  of  note-paper,  and  forty  or  fifty  stamp'd  envelopes, 
of  which  I  had  recruited  my  stock,  and  the  men  were  much 
in  need. 

Fifty  Hours  Left  Wounded  on  the  Field.— Here  is  a  case 
of  a  soldier  I  found  among  the  crowded  cots  in  the  Patent 
Office..  He  likes  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to,  and  we  will 
listen  to  him .  He  got  badly  hit  in  his  leg  and  side  at  Freder- 
icksburgh  that  eventful  Saturday,  13th  of  December.  He 
lay  the'succeeding  two  days  and  nights  helpless  on  the  field, 
between  the  city  and  those  grim  terraces  of  batteries ;  his 
company  and  regiment  had  been  compell'd  to  leave  him  to 
his  fate.  To  make  matters  worse,  it  happen'd  he  lay  with 
his  head  slightly  down  hill,  and  could  not  help  himself.  At 
the  end  of  some  fifty  hours  he  was  brought  off,  with  other 

wounded,  under  a  flag  of  truce I  ask  him  how  the 

rebels  treated  him  as  he  lay  during  those  two  days  and  nights 
within  reach  of  them — whether  they  came  to  him — whether 
they  abused  him?  He  answers  that  several  of  the  rebels, 
soldiers  and  others,  came  to  him,  at  one  time  and  another. 


DURING  THE   WAR.  9 

A  couple  of  them,  who  were  together,  spoke  roughly  and 
sarcastically,  but  nothing  worse.  One  middle-aged  man, 
however,  who  seem'd  to  be  moving  around  the  field,  among 
the  dead  and  wounded,  for  benevolent  purposes,  came  to 
him  in  a  way  he  will  never  forget;  treated  our  soldier 
kindly,  bound  up  his  wounds,  cheer'd  him,  gave  him  a  couple 
of  biscuits,  and  a  drink  of  whiskey  and  water  ;  ask'd  him  if 
he  could  eat  some  beef.  This  good  Secesh,  however,  did 
not  change  our  soldier's  position,  for  it  might  have  caused 
the  blood  to  burst  from  the  wounds,  clotted  and  stagnated. 
Our  soldier  is  from  Pennsylvania;  has  had  a  pretty  severe 
time  ;  the  wounds  proved  to  be  bad  ones.  But  he  retains  a 

good  heart,  and  is  at  present  on  the  gain (It  is  not 

uncommon  for  the  men  to  remain  on  the  field  this  way,  one, 
two,  or  even  four  or  five  days.) 

Letter  Writing. — When  eligible,  I  encourage  the  men  to 
write,  and  myself,  when  call'd  upon,  write  all  sorts  of  letters 
for  them,  (including  love  letters,  very  tender  ones.)  Almost 
as  I  reel  off  this  memoranda,  I  write  for  a  new  patient  to 
his  wife.  M.  de  F.,  of  the  Seventeenth  Connecticut,  Com 
pany  H,  has  just  come  up  (February  17)  from  Windmill 
Point,  and  is  received  in  Ward  H,  Armory  Square.  He  is 
an  intelligent  looking  man,  has  a  foreign  accent,  black-eyed 
and  hair'd,  a  Hebraic  appearance.  Wants  a  telegraphic 
message  sent  to  his  wife,  New  Canaan,  Ct.  I  agree  to  send 
the  message — but  to  make  things  sure,  I  also  sit  down  and 
write  the  wife  a  letter,  and  despatch  it  to  the  post-office  im 
mediately,  as  he  fears  she  will  come  on,  and  he  does  not 
wish  her  to,  as  he  will  surely  get  well. 

Saturday,  Jan.  30. — Afternoon,  visited  Campbell  Hospital. 
Scene  of  cleaning  up  the  Ward,  and  giving  the  men  all  clean 
clothes — through  the  Ward  (6)  the  patients  dressing  or  be 
ing  dress'd — the  naked  upper  half  of  the  bodies — the  good- 
humor  and  fun — the  shirts,  drawers,  sheets  of  beds,  &c., 
and  the  general  fixing  up  for  Sunday.  Gave  J.  L.  50  cts. 

Wednesday,  Feb.  4th. — Visited  Armory  Square  Hospital, 
went  pretty  thoroughly  through  Wards  E  and  D.  Supplied 
paper  and  envelopes  to  all  who  wish'd— as  usual,  found 
plenty  of  the  men  who  needed  those  articles.  Wrote  letters. 
Saw  and  talk'd  with  two  or  three  members  of  the  Brooklyn 

Fourteenth A  poor  fellow  in  Ward  D,  with  a  fearful 

wound  in  a  fearful  condition,  was  having  some  loose  splin 
ters  of  bone  taken  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  wound. 
The  operation  was  long,  and  one  of  great  pain — yet,  after  it 
was  well  commenced,  the  soldier  bore  it  in  silence.  He  sat 
up,  propp'd— was  much  wasted— had  lain  a  long  time  quiet 
in  one  position,  (not  for  days  only,  but  weeks,)— a  bloodless, 
brown-skinn'dface,  with  eyes  full  of  determination — belongM 
to  a  New  York  regiment.  There  was  an  unusual  cluster  oi 
surgeons,  medical  cadets,  nurses,  &c.,  around  his  bed— 1 
2 


10  MEMORANDA 

thought  the  whole  thing  was  done  with  tenderness,  and  done 
well. 

In  one  case,  the  wife  sat  by  the  side  of  her  husband,  his 
sickness,  typhoid  fever,  pretty  bad.  In  another,  by  the  side 
of  her  son — a  mother — she  told  me  she  had  seven  children, 
and  this  was  the  youngest.  (A  fine,  kind,  healthy,  gentle 
mother,  good-looking,  not  very  old,  with  a  cap  on  her  head, 
and  dress'd  like  home — what  a  charm  it  gave  to  the  whole 
Ward.)  I  liked  the  woman  nurse  in  Ward  E — I  noticed  how 
she  sat  a  long  time  by  a  poor  fellow  who  just  had,  that 
morning,  in  addition  to  his  other  sickness,  bad  hemmorhage 
— she  gently  assisted  him,  reliev'd  him  of  the  blood,  holding 
a  cloth  to  his  mouth,  as  he  cough'd  it  up — he  was  so  weak 
he  could  only  just  turn  his  head  over  on  the  pillow. 

One  young  New  York  man,  with  a  bright,  handsome  face, 
had  been  lying  several  months  from  a  most  disagreeable 
wound,  receiv'd  at  Bull  Kun.  A  bullet  had  shot  him  right 
through  the  bladder,  hitting  him  front,  low  in  the  belly, 
and  coming  out  back.  He  had  suffer'd  much — the  wa 
ter  came  out  of  the  wound,  by  slow  but  steady  quantities, 
for  many  weeks — so  that  he  lay  almost  constantly  in  a  sort 
of  puddle — and  there  were  other  disagreeable  circumstances. 
He  was  of  good  heart,  however.  At  present  comparatively 
comfortable ;  had  a  bad  throat,  was  delighted  with  a  stick 
of  horehound  candy  I  gave  him,  with  one  or  two  other  trifles. 

Feb.  23. — 1  must  not  let  the  great  Hospital  at  the  Patent 
Office  pass  away  without  some  mention.  A  few  weeks  ago 
the  vast  area  of  the  second  story  of  that  noblest  of  Wash 
ington  buildings,  was  crowded  close  with  rows  of  sick,  badly 
wounded  and  dying  soldiers.  They  were  placed  in  three 
very  large  apartments.  I  went  there  many  times.  It  was 
a  strange,  solemn  and,  with  all  its  features  of  suffering  and 
death,  a  sort  of  fascinating  sight.  I  go  sometimes  at  night 
to  soothe  and  relieve  particular  cases.  Two  of  the  immense 
apartments  are  fill'd  with  high  and  ponderous  glass  cases, 
crowded  with  models  in  miniature  of  every  kind  of  utensil, 
machine  or  invention,  it  ever  enter'd  into  the  mind  of  man 
to  conceive  ;  and  with  curiosities  and  foreign  presents.  Be 
tween  these  cases  are  lateral  openings,  perhaps  eight  feet 
wide,  and  quite  deep,  and  in  these  were  placed  the  sick ; 
besides  a  great  long  double  row  of  them  up  and  down  through 
the  middle  of  the  hall.  Many  of  them  were  very  bad  cases, 
wounds  and  amputations.  Then  there  was  a  gallery  running 
above  the  hall,  in  which  there  were  beds  also.  It  was,  in 
deed,  a  curious  scene  at  night,  when  lit  up.  The  glass  cases, 
the  beds,  the  forms  lying  there,  the  gallery  above,  and  the 
marble  pavement  under  foot — the  suffering,  and  the  forti 
tude  to  bear  it  in  various  degrees — occasionally,  from  some, 
the  groan  that  could  not  be  repressed— sometimes  a  poor  fel 
low  dying,  with  emaciated  face  and  glassy  eye,  the  nurse  by 


DURING  THE  WAR.  11 

his  side,  the  doctor  also  there,  but  no  friend,  no  relative — 
such  were  the  sights  but  lately  in  the  Patent  Office.  The 
wounded  have  since  been  removed  from  there,  and  it  is  now 
vacant  again. 

The  White  House,  by  Moonlight — Feb.  24. — A  spell  of  fine 
soft  weather.  I  wander  about  a  good  deal,  especially  at 
night,  under  the  moon.  To-night  took  a  long  look  at  the 
President's  House — and  here  is  my  splurge  about  it.  The 
white  portico — the  brilliant  gas-light  shining — the  palace- 
like  portico — the  tall,  round  columns,  spotless  as  snow — the 
walls  also — the  tender  and  soft  moonlight,  flooding  the  pale 
marble,  and  making  peculiar  faint  languishing  shades,  not 
shadows — everywhere  too  a  soft  transparent  haze,  a  thin 
blue  moon-lace,  hanging  in  the  night  in  the  air — the  brilliant 
and  extra  plentiful  clusters  of  gas,  on  and  around  the  facade, 
columns,  portico,  &c. — everything  so  white,  so  marbly  pure 
and  dazzling,  yet  soft — the  White  House  ©f  future  poems, 
and  of  dreams  and  dramas,  there  in  the  soft  and  copious 
moon — the  pure  and  gorgeous  front,  in  the  trees,  under  the 
night-lights,  under  the  lustrous  flooding  moon,  full  of  reality, 
full  of  illusion — The  forms  of  the  trees,  leafless,  silent,  in 
trunk  and  myriad-angles  of  branches,  under  the  stars  and 
sky— the  White  House  of  the  land,  the  White  House  of  the 
night,  and  of  beauty  and  silence — sentries  at  the  gates,  and 
by  the  portico,  silent,  pacing  there  in  blue  overcoats — stop 
ping  you  not  at  all,  but  eyeing  you  with  sharp  eyes,  which 
ever  way  you  move. 

An  Army  Hospital  Ward. — Let  me  specialize  a  visit  I  made 
to  the  collection  of  barrack-like  one-story  edifices,  call'd 
Campbell  Hospital,  out  on  the  flats,  at  the  end  of  the  then 
horse-railway  route,  on  Seventh  street.  There  is  a  long 
building  appropriated  to  each  Ward.  Let  us  go  into  Ward 
6.  It  contains  to-day,  I  should  judge,  eighty  or  a  hundred 
patients,  half  sick,  half  wounded.  The  edifice  is  nothing 
but  boards,  well  whitewash'd  inside,  and  the  usual  slender- 
framed  iron  bedsteads,  narrow  and  plain.  You  walk  down 
the  central  passage,  with  a  row  on  either  side,  their  feet  to 
ward  you,  and  their  heads  to  the  wall.  There  are  fires  in 
large  stoves,  and  the  prevailing  white  of  the  walls  is  reliev'd 
by  some  ornaments,  stars,  circles,  &c.,  made  of  evergreens. 
The  view  of  the  whole  edifice  and  occupants  can  be  taken  at 
once,  for  there  is  no  partition.  You  may  hear  groans,  or 
other  sounds  of  unendurable  suffering,  from  two  or  three  of 
the  iron  cots,  but  in  the  main  there  is  quiet-  almost  a  pain 
ful  absence  of  demonstration  ;  but  the  pallid  face,  the  dull'd 
eye,  and  the  moisture  on  the  lip,  are  demonstration  enough. 
Most  of  these  sick  or  hurt  are  evidently  young  fellows  from 
the  country,  farmers'  sons,  and  such  like.  Look  at  the  fine 
large  frames,  the  bright  and  broad  countenances,  and  the 
many  yet  lingering  proofs  of  strong  constitution  and  physique. 


12  MEMORANDA 

Look  at  the  patient  and  mute  manner  of  our  American 
wounded,  as  they  lie  in  such  a  sad  collection ;  representa 
tives  from  all  New  England,  and  from  New  York  and  New 
Jersey  and  Pennsylvania — indeed,  from  all  the  States  and 
all  the  cities— largely  from  the  West.  Most  of  them  are 
entirely  without  friends  or  acquaintances  here — no  familiar 
face,  and  hardly  a  word  of  judicious  sympathy  or  cheer, 
through  their  sometimes  long  and  tedious  sickness,  or  the 
/pangs  of  aggravated  wounds. 

t  A  Connecticut  Case. — This  young  man  in  bed  25  is  H.  D.  B., 
of  the  Twenty-seventh  Connecticut,  Company  B.  His  folks 
live  at  Northford,  near  New  Haven.  Though  not  more  than 
twenty-one,  or  thereabouts,  he  has  knock'd  much  around  the 
world,  on  sea  and  land,  and  has  seen  some  fighting  on  both. 
When  I  first  saw  him  he  was  very  sick,  with  no  appetite. 
He  declined  offers  of  money — said  he  did  not  need  anything. 
As  I  was  quite  anxious  to  do  something,  he  confess'd  that 
he  had  a  hankering  for  a  good  home-made  rice  pudding — 
thought  he  could  relish  it  better  than  anything.  At  this  time 
his  stomach  was  very  weak.  (The  doctor,  whom  I  consulted, 
said  nourishment  would  do  him  more  good  than  anything ; 
but  things  in  the  hospital,  though  better  than  usual,  revolted 
him.)  I  soon  procured  B.  his  rice-pudding.  A  Washington 
lady,  (Mrs.  O'C.),  hearing  his  wish,  made  the  pudding  her 
self,  and  I  took  it  up  to  him  the  next  day.  He  subsequently 

told  me  he  lived  upon  it  for  three  or  four  days This  B.  is 

a  good  sample  of  the  American  Eastern  voung  man — the 
typical  Yankee.    I  took  a  fancy  to  him,  and  gave  him  a  nice 

Sipe,  for  a  keepsake.   He  receiv'd  afterwards  a  box  of  things 
'om  home,  and  nothing  would  do  but  I  must  take  dinner 
with  him,  which  I  did,  and  a  very  good  one  it  was. 

Two  Brooklyn  Boys. — Here  in  this  same  Ward  are  two 
young  men  from  Brooklyn,  members  ol  the  Fifty-first  New 
York.  I  had  known  both  the  two  as  young  lads  at  home, 
so  they  seem  near  to  me.  One  of  them,  J.  L.,  lies  there 
with  an  amputated  arm,  the  stump  healing  pretty  well.  (I 
saw  him  lying  on  the  ground  at  Fredericksburgh  last  Decem 
ber,  all  bloody,  just  after  the  arm  was  taken  off.  He  was 
very  phlegmatic  about  it,  munching  away  at  a  cracker  in  the 
remaining  hand — made  no  fuss.)  He  will  recover,  and 
thinks  and  talks  yet  of  meeting  the  Johnny  Rebs. 

A  Secesh  Brave. — The  brave,  grand  soldiers  are  not  com 
prised  in  those  of  one  side,  any  more  than  the  other.  Here 
is  a  sample  of  an  unknown  Southerner,  a  lad  of  seventeen. 
At  the  War  Department,  a  few  days  ago,  I  witness'd  a  pre 
sentation  of  captured  flags  to  the  Secretary.  Among  others 
a  soldier  named  Gaut,  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Fourth  Ohio 
Volunteers,  presented  a  rebel  battle-flag,  which  one  of  the 
officers  stated  to  me  was  borne  to  the  mouth  of  our  cannon 
and  planted  there  by  a  boy  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  who 


DURING  THE   WAR.  13 

actually  endeavor'd  to  stop  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  with  fence- 
rails.  He  was  kill'd  in  the  effort,  and  the  flag-staff  was  sev- 
er'd  by  a  shot  from  one  of  our  men.  (Perhaps,  in  that 
Southern  boy  of  seventeen,  untold  in  history,  unsung  in 
poems,  altogether  unnamed,  fell  as  strong  a  spirit,  and  as 
sweet,  as  any  in  all  time.) 

The  Wounded  from  Chancellor  sville.  May,  '63.— As  I  write 
this,  the  wounded  have  begun  to  arrive  from  Hooker's  com 
mand  from  bloody  Chancellorsville.  I  was  down  among  the 
first  arrivals.  The  men  in  charge  of  them  told  me  the  bad 
cases  were  yet  to  come.  If  that  is  so  I  pity  them,  for 
these  are  bad  enough.  You  ought  to  see  the  scene  of  the 
wounded  arriving  at  the  landing  here  foot  of  Sixth  street,  at 
night.  Two  boat  loads  came  about  half-past  seven  last 
night.  A  little  after  eight  it  rain'd  a  long  and  violent 
shower.  The  poor,  pale,  helpless  soldiers  had  been  debark'd, 
and  lay  around  on  the  wharf  and  neighborhood  anywhere. 
The  rain  was,  probably,  grateful  to  them  ;  at  any  rate  they 
were  exposed  to  it.  The  few  torches  light  up  the  spectacle. 
All  around — on  the  wharf,  on  the  ground,  out  on  side 
places — the  men  are  lying  on  blankets,  old  quilts,  &c.,  with 
bloody  rags  bound  round  heads,  arms,  and  legs.  The  at 
tendants  are  few,  and  at  night  few  outsiders  also — only  a  few 
hard-worked  transportation  men  and  drivers.  (The  wounded 
are  getting  to  be  common,  and  people  grow  callous.)  The 
men,  whatever  their  condition,  lie  there,  and  patiently  wait 
till  their  turn  comes  to  be  taken  up.  ISTear  by,  the  ambu 
lances  are  now  arriving  in  clusters,  and  one  after  another  is 
call'd  to  back  up  and  take  its  load.  Extreme  cases  are  sent 
off  on  stretchers.  The  men  generally  make  little  or  no  ado, 
whatever  their  sufferings.  A  few  groans  that  cannot  be  sup- 
press'd,  and  occasionally  a  scream  of  pain  as  they  lift  a  man 

into  the  ambulance To  day,  as  I  write,  hundreds  more 

are  expected,  and  to-morrow  and  the  next  dav  more,  and  so 
on  for  many  days.  Quite  often  they  arrive"  at  the  rate  of 
1000  a  day. 

May  12 — A  Night  Battle,  over  a  week  since. — We  already 
talk  of  Histories  of  the  War,  (presently  to  accumulate)— yes 
— technical  histories  of  some  things,  statistics,  official  re 
ports,  and  so  on— but  shall  we  ever  get  histories  of  the  real 
things  ? There  was  part  of  the  late  battle  at  Chancellors 
ville,  (second  Fredericksbursh,)  a  little  over  a  week  ago, 
Saturday,  Saturday  night  and  Sunday,  under  Gen..  Joe 
Hooker,  I  would  like  to  give  just  a  glimpse  of— (a  moment's 
look  in  a  terrible  storm  at  sea — of  which  a  few  suggestions 
are  enough,  and  full  details  impossible.)  The  fighting  had 
been  very  hot  during  the  day,  and  after  an  intermission  the 
latter  part,  was  resumed  at  night,  and  kept  up  with  furious 
energy  till  3  o'clock  in  the  morning.  That  afternoon  (Satur 
day)  an  attack  sudden  and  strong  by  Stonewall  Jackson  had 


14  MEMORANDA 

gain'd  a  great  advantage  to  the  Southern  army,  and  broken 
our  lines,  entering  us  like  a  wedge,  and  leaving  things  in  that 
position  at  dark.  "  But  Hooker  at  11  at  night  made  a  desper 
ate  push,  drove  the  Secesh  forces  back,  restored  his  original 
lines,  and  resumed  his  plans.  This  night  scrimmage  was 
very  exciting,  and  afforded  countless  strange  and  fearful 
pictures.  The  lighting  had  been  general  both  at  Chancel- 
lorsville  and  northeast  at  Fredericksburgh.  (We  hear  of 
some  poor  fighting,  episodes,  skedaddling  on  our  part.  I  think 
not  of  it.  I  think  of  the  fierce  bravery,  the  general  rule.) 
One  Corps,  the  6th,  Sedge  wick's,  fights  four  dashing  and 
bloody  battles  in  36  hours,  retreating  in  great  jeopardy, 
losing  largely  and  maintaining  itself,  fighting  with  the  stern 
est  desperation  under  all  circumstances,  getting  over  the 
Eappahannock  only  by  the  skin  of  its  teeth,  yet  getting  over. 
It  lost  many,  many  brave  men,  yet  it  took  vengeance, 
ample  vengeance. 

But  it  was  the  tug  of  Saturday  evening,  and  through  the 
night  and  Sunday  morning,  I  wanted  to  make  a  special  note 
of.  It  was  largely  in  the  woods,  and  quite  a  general  engage 
ment.  The  night  was  very  pleasant,  at  times  the  moon 
shining  out  full  and  clear,  all  Nature  so  calm  in  itself,  the 
early  summer  grass  so  rich,  and  foliage  of  the  trees— yet 
there  the  battle  raging,  and  many  good  fellows  lying  help 
less,  with  new  accessions  to  them,  and  every  minute  amid 
the  rattle  of  muskets  and  crash  of  cannon,  (for  there  was  an 
artillery  contest  too,)  the  red  life-blood  oozing  out  from 
heads  or  trunks  or  limbs  upon  that  green  and  dew-cool  grass. 
The  woods  take  fire,  and  many  of  the  wounded,  unable  to 
move,  (especially  some  of  the  divisions  in  the  Sixth  Corps,) 
are  consumed — quite  large  spaces  are  swept  over,  burning 
the  dead  also — some  of  the  men  have  their  hair  and  beards 
singed — some,  splatches  of  burns  on  their  faces  and  hands — 

others  holes  burnt  in  their  clothing The  flashes  of  fire 

from  the  cannon,  the  quick  flaring  flames  and  smoke, 
and  the  immense  roar — the  musketry  so  general,  the  light 
nearly  bright  enough  for  each  side  to  see  one  another — the 
crashing,  tramping  of  men — the  yelling — close  quarters — we 
hear  the  becesh  yells — our  men  cheer  loudly  back,  especi 
ally  if  Hooker  is  in  sight— hand  to  hand  conflicts,  each  side 
stands  up  to  it,  brave,  determin'd  as  demons,  they  often 
charge  upon  us — a  thousand  deeds  are  done  worth  to  write 
newer  greater  poems  on — and  still  the  woods  on  fire — still 
many  are  not  only  scorch'd— too  many,  unable  to  move,  are 

burn'd   to  death Then   the   camp  of  the  wounded— O 

heavens,  what  scene  is  this  ? — is  this  indeed  humanity — these 
butchers'  shambles?  There  are  several  of  them.  There 
they  lie,  in  the  largest,  in  an  open  space  in  the  woods, 
from  500  to  600  poor  fellows— the  groans  and  screams— the 
odor  of  blood,  mixed  with  the  fresh  scent  of  the  night,  the 


DURING  THE  WAR.  15 

grass,  the  trees — that  Slaughter-house  ! — 0  well  is  it  their 
mothers,  their  sisters  cannot  see  them — cannot  conceive,  and 

never  conceiv'd,  these  things One  man  is  shot  by  a 

shell,  both  in  the  arm  and  leg — both  are  amputated — there 
lie  the  rejected  members.  Some  have  their  legs  blown  off- 
some  bullets  through  the  breast — some  indescribably  hor 
rid  wounds  in  the  face  or  head,  all  mutilated,  sickening, 
torn,  gouged  out — some  in  the  abdomen — some  mere  boys — 
here  is  one  his  face  colorless  as  chalk,  lying  perfectly  still, 
a  bullet  has  perforated  the  abdomen— life  is  ebbing  fast, 
there  is  no  help  for  him.  In  the  camp  of  the  wounded  are 
many  rebels,  badly  hurt— they  take  their  regular  turns  with 
the  rest,  just  the  same  as  any — the  surgeons  use  them  just 

the  same Such  is  the  camp  of  the  wounded — such  a 

fragment,  a  reflection  afar  off  of  the  bloody  scene— while 
over  all  the  clear,  large  moon  comes  out  at  times  softly, 
quietly  shining. 

Such,  amid  the  woods,  that  scene  of  flitting  souls — amid 
the  crack  and  crash  and  yelling  sounds— the  impalpable  per 
fume  of  the  woods — and  yet  the  pungent,  stifling  smoke- 
shed  with  the  radiance  of  the  moon,  the  round,  maternal 
queen,  looking  from  heaven  at  intervals  so  placid — the  sky 
so  heavenly — the  clear-obscure  up  there,  those  buoyant  up 
per  oceans — a  few  large  placid  stars  beyond,  coming  out 
and  then  disappearing — the  melancholy,  draperied  night 

above,  around And  there,  upon  the  roads,  the  fields,  and 

in  those  woods,  that  contest,  never  one  more  desperate  in 
any  age  or  land— both  parties  now  in  force — masses — no 
fancy  battle,  no  semi-play,  but  fierce  and  savage  demons 
fighting  there — courage  and  scorn  of  death  the  rule,  excep 
tions  almost  none. 

What  history,  again  I  say,  can  ever  give — for  who  can 
know,  the  mad,  determin'd  tussle  of  the  armies,  in  all  their 
separate  large  and  little  squads — as  this — each  steep'd  from 
crown  to  toe  in  desperate,  mortal  purports  ?  Who  know  the 
conflict  hand-to-hand — the  many  conflicts  in  the  dark,  those 
shadowy-tangled,  flashing-moonbeam 'd  woods — the  writhing 
groups  and  squads — hear  through  the  woods  the  cries,  the 
din,  the  cracking  guns  and  pistols— the  distant  cannon — the 
cheers  and  calls,  and  threats  and  awful  music  of  the  oaths — 
the  indiscribable  mix — the  officers'  orders,  persuasions,  en 
couragements—the  devils  fully  rous'd  in  human  hearts— the 
strong  word,  Charge,  men,  charge — the  flash  of  the  naked 
sword,  and  many  a  flame  and  smoke— And  still  the  broken, 
clear  and  clouded  heaven — and  still  again  the  moonlight 

pouring  silvery  soft  its  radiant  patches  overall? Who 

paint  the  scene,  the  sudden  partial  panic  of  the  afternoon, 
at  dusk  ?  Who  paint  the  irrepressible  advance  of  the  Sec 
ond  Division  of  the  Third  Corps,  under  Hooker  himself, 
suddenly  order'd  up — those  rapid-filing  phantoms  through 


10  MEMORANDA 

the  woods  ?  Who  show  what  moves  there  in  the  shadows, 
fluid  and  firm— to  save,  (and  it  did  save,)  the  Army's  name, 
perhaps  the  Nation  ?  And  there  the  veterans  hold  the  field. 
(Brave  Berry  falls  not  yet— but  Death  has  mark'd  him— 
soon  he  falls.) 

Of  scenes  like  these,  I  say,  who  writes — who  e'er  can 
write,  the  story  ?  Of  many  a  score — aye,  thousands,  North 
and  South,  of  unwrit  heroes,  unknown  heroisms,  incredible, 
impromptu,  first-class  desperations  —who  tells  ?  No  history, 
ever — No  poem  sings,  nor  music  sounds,  those  bravest  men 
of  all — those  deeds.  No  formal  General's  report,  nor  print, 
nor  book  in  the  library,  nor  column  in  the  paper,  embalms 
the  bravest,  North  or  South,  East  or  West.  Unnamed,  un 
known,  remain,  and  still  remain,  the  bravest  soldiers.  Our 
manliest — our  boys — our  hardy  darlings.  Indeed  no  picture 
gives  them.  Likely  their  very  names  are  lost.  Likely,  the 
typic  one  of  them,  (standing,  no  doubt,  for  hundreds,  thou 
sands,)  crawls  aside  to  some  bush-clump,  or  ferny  tuft,  on 
receiving  his  death-shot — there,  sheltering  a  little  while, 
soaking  roots,  grass  and  soil  with  red  blood— the  battle  ad 
vances,  retreats,  flits  from  the  scene,  sweeps  by — and  there, 
haply  with  pain  and  suffering,  (yet  less,  far  less,  than  is  sup 
posed,)  the  last  lethargy  winds  like  a  serpent  round  him — 
the  eyes  glaze  in  death— none  recks— Perhaps  the  burial- 
squads,  in  truce,  a  week  afterwards,  search  not  the  secluded 
spot — And  there,  at  last,  the  Bravest  Soldier  crumbles  in 
the  soil  of  mother  earth,  unburied  and  unknown. 

June  18. — In  one  of  the  Hospitals  I  find  Thomas  Haley, 
Co.  M,  Fourth  New  York  Cavalry — a  regular  Irish  boy,  a 
fine  specimen  of  youthful  physical  manliness — shot  through 
the  lungs — inevitably  dying — came  over  to  this  country  from 
Ireland  to  enlist— has  not  a  single  friend  or  acquaintance 
here — is  sleeping  soundly  at  this  moment,  (but  it  is  the  sleep 

of  death) — has  a  bullet-hole  straight  through  the  lung I 

saw  Tom  when  first  brought  here,  three  days  since,  and 
didn't  supppose  he  could  live  twelve  hours — (yet  he  looks 
well  enough  in  the  face  to  a  casual  observer.)  He  lies  there 
with  his  frame  exposed  above  the  waist,  all  naked,  for  cool 
ness,  a  fine  built  man,  the  tan  not  yet  bleach'd  from  his 
cheeks  and  neck.  It  is  useless  to  talk  to  him,  as  with  his 
sad  hurt,  and  the  stimulants  they  give  him,  and  the  utter 
strangeness  of  every  object,  face,  furniture,  &c.,  the  poor 
fellow,  even  when  awake,  is  like  a  frighten'd,  shy  animal. 
Much  of  the  time  he  sleeps,  or  half  sleeps.  (Sometimes  I 
thought  he  knew  more  than  be  show'd.)  I  often  come  and 
sit  by  him  in  perfect  silence  ;  he  will  breathe  for  ten  min 
utes  as  softly  and  evenly  as  a  young  babe  asleep.  Poor 
youth,  so  handsome,  athletic,  with  profuse  beautiful  shining 
hair.  One  time  as  I  sat  looking  at  him  while  he  lay  asleep, 
he  suddenly,  without  the  least  start,  awaken'd,  open'd  his 


DURING  THE  WAR.  17 

eyes,  gave  me  a  long,  long  steady  look,  turning  his  face  very 
slightly  to  gaze  easier — one  long,  clear  silent  look — a  slight 
sigh — then  turn 'd  back  and  went  into  his  doze  again.  Little 
he  knew,  poor  death-stricken  boy,  the  heart  of  the  stranger 
that  hover'd  near. 

W.  H.  E.,  Co.  .F.,  Second  N.  J. — His  disease  is  pneumonia. 
He  lay  sick  at  the  wretched  hospital  below  Aquia  Creek, 
for  seven  or  eight  days  before  brought  here.  He  was  de- 
tail'd  from  his  regiment  to  go  there  and  help  as  nurse  ;  but 
was  soon  taken  down  himself.  Is  an  elderly,  sallow-faced, 
rather  gaunt,  gray-hair'd  man ;  a  widower,'  with  children. 
He  express'd  a  great  desire  for  good,  strong,  green  tea.  An 
excellent  lady,  Mrs.  W.,  of  Washington,  soon  sent  him  a 
package  ;  also  a  small  sum  of  money.  The  doctor  said  give 
him  the  tea  at  pleasure  ;  it  lay  on  the  table  by  his  side,  and 
he  used  it  every  day.  He  slept  a  great  deal ;  could  not  talk 
much,  as  he  grew  deaf.  Occupied  bed  15,  Ward  I,  Armory. 
(The  same  lady  above,  Mrs.  W.,  sent  the  men  a  large  pack 
age  of  tobacco.) 

J,  G.  lies  in  bed  52,  Ward  I ;  is  of  Co.  B,  Seventh  Penn 
sylvania.  I  gave  him  a  small  sum  of  money,  some  tobacco 
and  envelopes.  To  a  man  adjoining,  also  gave  25  cents  ;  he 
flush'd  in  the  face,  when  I  offer'd  it— refused  at  first,  but  as 
I  found  he  had  not  a  cent,  and  was  very  fond  of  having  the 
daily  papers,  to  read,  I  prest  it  on  him.  He  was  evidently 
very  grateful,  but  said  little. 

J.  T.  L.,  of  Co.  F.,  Ninth  New  Hampshire,  lies  in  bed  37, 
Ward  I.  Is  very  fond  of  tobacco.  I  furnish  him  some ; 
also  with  a  little  money.  Has  gangrene  of  the  feet,  a  pret 
ty  bad  case ;  will  surely  have  to  lose  three  toes.  Is  a  regu 
lar  specimen  of  an  old-fashion'd,  rude,  hearty,  New  England 
country  man,  impressing  me  with  his  likeness  to  that  cele 
brated  singed  cat,  who  was  better  than  she  look'd. 

Bed  3,  Ward  E,  Armory,  has  a  great  hankering  for  pick 
les  ,  something  pungent .  After  consulting  the  doctor.  I  gave 
him  a  small  bottle  of  horse-radish;  also  some  apples ;  also  a 

book Some  of  the  nurses  are  excellent.    The  woman 

nurse  in  this  Ward  I  like  very  much.  (Mrs.  Wright — a  year 
afterwards  I  found  her  in  Mansion  House  Hospital,  Alexan- 
dri — she  is  a  perfect  nurse.) 

In  one  bed  a  young  man,  Marcus  Small,  Co.  K,  Seventh 
Maine — sick  with  dysentery  and  typhoid  fever — pretty  criti 
cal,  too — I  talk  with  him  often — he  thinks  he  will  die — looks 
like  it  indeed.  I  write  a  letter  for  him  home  to  East  Liv- 
ermore,  Maine— I  let  him  talk  to  me  a  little,  but  not  much, 
advise  him  to  keep  very  quiet— do  most  of  the  talking  my 
self—stay  quite  a  while  with  him,  as  he  holds  on  to  my 
hand — talk  to  him  in  a  cheering,  but  slow,  low,  and  meas 
ured  manner— talk  about  his  furlough,  and  going  home  as 
soon  as  he  is  able  to  travel. 
3 


18  MEMORANDA 

Thomas  Lindly,  First  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,  shot  very 
badly  through  the  foot— poor  young  man,  he  suffers  hor 
ribly,  has  to  be  constantly  dosed  with  morphine,  his  face 
ashy  and  dazed,  bright  young  eyes— give  him  a  large  hand 
some  apple,  tell  him  to  have  it  roasted  in  the  mornir  g,  as 
he  generally  feels  easier  then,  and  can  eat  a  little  breakfast. 
I  write  two  letters  for  him. 

Opposite,  an  eld  Quaker  lady  is  sitting  by  the  side  of  her 
sen,  Amer  Moore,  Second  U.  S.  Artillery— shot  in  the  head 
two  weeks  since,  very  low,  quite  rational — from  hips  down, 
paralyzed— he  will  surely  die.  I  speak  a  very  few  words  to 
him  every  day  and  evening — he  answers  pleasantly — is  a 
handsome  fellow — wants  nothing — (he  told  me  soon  after 
he  came  about  his  home  affairs,  his  mother  had  been  an  in 
valid,  and  he  fear'd  to  let  her  know  his  condition.)  He  died 
soon  after  she  cime. 

(In  my  visits  to  the  Hospitals  I  found  it  was  in  the  simple 
matter  of  Personal  Presence,  and  emanating  ordinary  cheer 
and  magnetism,  that  I  succeeded  and  help'd  more  than  by 
medical  nursing,  or  delicacies,  or  gifts  of  money,  or  anything 
else.  During  the  war  I  possess'd  the  perfection  of  physical 
health.  My  habit,  when  practicable,  was  to  prepare  for 
starting  out  on  one  of  those  daily  or  nightly  tours,  of  from 
a  couple  to  four  or  five  hours,  by  fortifying  myself  with  pre 
vious  rest,  the  bath,  clean  clothes,  a  good  meal,  and  as  cheer 
ful  an  appearance  as  possible.) 

June  25,  (Thursday,  Sundown}. — As  I  sit  writing  this  para 
graph  I  see  a  train  of  about  thirty  huge  four-horse  wagons, 
used  as  ambulances,  fill'd  with  wounded,  passing  up  Four 
teenth  street,  on  their  way,  probably,  to  Columbian,  Carver, 
and  Mount  Pleasant  Hospitals.  This  is  the  way  the  men 
come  in  now,  seldom  in  small  numbers,  but  almost  always 
in  these  long,  sad  processions.  Through  the  past  winter, 
while  our  army  lay  opposite  Fredericksburgh,  the  like 
strings  of  ambulances  were  of  frequent  occurrence  along 
Seventh  street,  passing  slowly  up  from  the  steamboat  wharf, 
with  loads  from  Aquia  Creek. 

Sad  Wounds,  the  Young. — The  soldiers  are  nearly  all  young 
men,  and  far  more  American  than  is  generally  supposed  — 
I  should  say  nine-tenths  are  native-born.  Among  the  arri 
vals  from  Chancellorsville  I  find  a  large  proportion  of  Ohio, 
Indiana,  and  Illinois  men.  As  usual,  there  are  all  sorts  of 
wounds.  Some  of  the  men  fearfully  burnt  from  the  explo 
sion  of  artillery  caissons.  One  Ward  has  a  long  row  of  offi 
cers,  some  with  ugly  hurts.  Yesterday  was  perhaps  worse 
than  usual.  Amputations  are  going  on— the  attendants  are 
dressing  wounds.  As  you  pass  by,  you  must  be  on  your 
guard  where  you  look.  I  saw  the  other  day  a  gentleman,  a 
visitor  apparently  from  curiosity,  in  one  of  the  Wards,  step 
and  turn  a  moment  to  look  at  an  awful  wound  they  were 


DURING  THE  WAR.  19 

probing,  &c.    He  turn'd  pale,  and  in  a  moment  more  he  had 
fainted  away  and  fallen  »n  the  floor. 

June  29. — Just  before  sundown  this  evening  a  very  large 
cavalry  force  went  by— a  fine  sight.  The  men  evidently  had 
seen  service.  First  came  a  mounted  band  of  sixteen  bugles, 
drums  and  cymbals,  playing  wild  martial  tunes — made 
my  heart  jump.  Then  the  principal  officers,  then  company 
after  company,  with  their  officers  at  their  heads,  making  of 
coarse  the  main  part  of  the  cavalcade  ;  then  a  long  train  ©f 
men  with  led  horses,  lots  of  mounted  negroes  with  special 
horses — and  a  long  string  of  baggage- waggons,  each  drawn 
by  four  horses — and  then  a  motley  rear  guard.  It  was  a  pro 
nouncedly  warlike  and  gay  show.  The  sabres  clank 'd,  the 
men  look'd  young  and  healthy  and  strong ;  the  electric 
tramping  of  so  many  horses  on  the  hard  road,  and  the  gal 
lant  bearing,  fine  seat,  and  bright  faced  appearance  of  a 
thousand  and  more  handsome  young  American  men,  were  so 
good  to  see — quite  set  me  up  for  hours. 

An  hour  later  another  troop  went  by,  smaller  in  numbers, 
perhaps  three  hundred  men.  They  too  look'd  like  servicea 
ble  men,  campaigners  used  to  field  and  fight. 

July  3. — This  forenoon,  for  more  than  an  hour,  again  long 
strings  of  cavalry,  several  regiments,  very  fine  men  and 
horses,  four  or  five  abreast.  I  saw  them  in  Fourteenth 
street,  coming  in  town  from  north.  Several  hundred  extra 
horses,  some  of  the  mares  with  colts,  trotting  along.  (Ap- 
pear'd  to  be  a  number  of  prisoners  too.) How  inspirit 
ing  always  the  cavalry  regiments  !  Our  men  are  generally 
well  mounted,  they  ride  well,  feel  good,  are  young,  and  gay 
on  the  saddle,  their  blankets  in  a  roll  behind  them,  their 
sabres  clanking  at  their  sides.  This  noise  and  movement 
and  the  tramp  of  many  horses'  hoofs  has  a  curious  effect  upon 
one.  The  bugles  play— presently  you  hear  them  afar  off, 
deaden'd,  mix'd  with  other  noises. 

Then  just  as  they  had  all  pass'd,  a  string  of  ambulances 
commenced  from  the  other  way,  moving  up  Fourteenth  street 
north,  slowly  wending  along,  bearing  a  large  lot  of  wounded 
to  the  hospitals. 

4ta  July— Battle  of  GETTYSBURG,— The  weather  to-day, 
upon  the  whole,  is  very  fine,  warm,  but  from  a  smart 
rain  last  night,  fresh  enough,  and  no  dust,  which  is  a  great 
relief  for  this  city.  I  saw  the  parade  about  noon,  Penn 
sylvania  avenue,  from  Fifteenth  street  down  toward  the 
Capitol.  There  were  three  regiments  of  infantry,  (I  suppose 
the  ones  doing  patrol  duty  here,)  two  or  three  societies  of 
Odd  Fellows,  a  lot  of  children  in  barouches,  and  a  squad  of 
policemen.  (It  was  a  useless  imposition  upon  the  soldiers 
—they  have  work  enough  on  their  backs  without  piling  the 
like  of  this.) 

As  I  went  down  the  Avenue,  saw  a  big  flaring  placard  on 


20  MEMORANDA 

the  bulletin  board  of  a  newspaper  office,  announcing  "  Glori 
ous  Victory  for  the  Union  Army!"  Meade  had  fought  Lee 
at  Gettysburgh,  Pennsylvania,  yesterday  and  day 'before, 
and  repuls'd  him  most  signally,  taken  3,000  prisoners,  &c. 
(I  afterwards  saw  Meade 's  despatch,  very  modest,  and  a  sort 
of  order  of  the  day  from  the  President  himself,  quite  reli 
gious,  giving  thanks  to  the  Supreme,  and  calling  on  the  peo 
ple  to  do  the  same,  &c.) 

I  walk'd  on  to  Armory  Hospital— took  along  with  me 
several  bottles  of  blackberry  and  cherry  syrup,  good  and 
strong,  but  innocent.  Went  through  several  of  the  Wards, 
announc'd  to  the  soldiers  the  news  from  Meade,  and  gave 
them  all  a  good  drink  of  the  syrups  with  ice  water,  quite  re 
freshing Meanwhile  the  Washington  bells  are  ringing 

their  sundown  peals  for  Fourth  of  July,  and  the  usual  fusil 
lades  of  boys'  pistols,  crackers,  and  guns. 

A  Cavalry  Gamp. — I  am  writing  this  nearly  sundown, 
watching  a  Cavalry  company,  (acting  Signal  Service,)  just 
come  in  through  a  shower,  and  making  their  night's  camp 
ready  on  some  broad,  vacant  ground,  a  sort  of  hill,  in  full 
view,  opposite  my  window.  There  are  the  men  in  their  yel 
low-striped  jackets.  All  are  dismounted ;  the  freed  horses 
stand  with  drooping  heads  and  wet  sides.  They  are  to  be 
led  off  presently  in  groups,  to  water.  The  little  wall-tents 
and  shelter-tents  spring  up  quickly.  I  see  the  fires  already 
blazing,  and  pots  and  kettles  over  them.  The  laggards 
among  the  men  are  driving  in  tent-poles,  wielding  their  axes 
with  strong,  slow  blows.  I  see  great  huddles  of  horses, 
bundles  of  hay,  men,  (some  with  unbuckled  sabres  yet  on 
their  sides,)  a  few  officers,  piles  of  wood,  the  flames  of  the 
fires,  comrades  by  two  and  threes,  saddles,  harness,  &c. 
The  smoke  streams  upward,  additional  men  arrive  ana  dis 
mount — same  drive  in  stakes,  and  tie  their  horses  to  them  ; 
some  go  with  buckets  for  water,  some  are  chopping  wood, 
and  so  on. 

July  6. — A  steady  rain,  dark  and  thick  and  warm.  A  train 
of  six-mule  wagons  has  just  pass'd  bearing  pontoons,  great 
square-end  flat-boats,  and  the  heavy  planking  for  overlaying 
them.  We  hear  that  the  Potomac  above  nere  is  flooded, 
and  are  wondering  whether  Lee  will  be  able  to  get  back 
across  again,  or  whether  Meade  will  indeed  break  him  to 
pieces. 

The  cavalry  camp  on  the  hill  is  a  ceaseless  field  of  observa 
tion  for  me.  This  forenoon  there  stand  the  horses,  huddled, 
tether'd  together,  dripping,  steaming,  chewing  their  hay. 
The  men  emerge  from  their  tents,  drip  ping  also.  The  fires 
are  half  quench'd. 

July  10.— Still  the  camp  opposite— perhaps  50  or  60  tents. 
Some  of  the  men  are  cleaning  their  sabres,  (pleasant  to-day,) 
some  brushing  boots,  some  laying  off,  reading,  writing— some 


DURING  THE  WAR.  21 

cooking,  some  sleeping — On  long  temporary  cross-sticks  back 
of  the  tents  are  hung  saddles  and  cavalry  accoutrements — 
blankets  and  overcoats  are  hung  out  to  air — there  are  the 
squads  of  horses  tether'd,  feeding,  continually  stamping  and 

whisking  their  tails  to  keep  off  flies I  sit  long  in  my  third 

story  window  and  look  at  the  scene — a  hundred  little  things 
going  en — or  peculiar  objects  connected  with  the  camp  that 
could  not  be  described,  any  one  of  them  justly,  without  much 
minute  drawing  and  coloring  in  words. 

A  New  York  Soldier. — This  afternoon,  July  22,  I  have 
spent  a  long  time  with  Oscar  F.  Wilber,  Company  G,  One 
Hundred  and  Fifty-fourth  !N"ew  York,  low  with  chronic  diar 
rhoea,  and  a  bad  wound  also.  He  ask'd  me  to  read  to  him  a 
chapter  in  the  New  Testament.  I  complied,  and  ask'd  him 
what  I  should  read.  He  said :  "  Make  your  own  choice."  I 
ppen'd  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  first  books  of  the  Evangel 
ists,  and  read  the  chapters  describing  the  latter  hours  of 
Christ,  and  the  scenes  at  the  crucifixion.  The  poor,  wasted 
young  man  ask'd  me  to  read  the  following  chapter  also,  how 
Christ  rose  again..  I  read  very  slowly,  for  Oscar  was  feeble. 
It  pleas'd  him  very  much,  yet  the  tears  were  in  his  eyes. 
He  ask'd  me  if  I  enjoy'd  religion.  I  said:  "  Perhaps  not, 
my  dear,  in  the  way  you  mean,  and  yet,  may-be,  it  is  the 
same  thing."  He  said :  "  It  is  my  chief  reliance."  He  talk'd 
of  death,  and  said  he  did  not  fear  it.  I  said  :  "  Why,  Oscar, 
don't  you  think  you  will  get  well  ?"  He  said :  "  I  may,  but 
it  is  not  probable."  He  spoke  calmly  of  his  condition.  The 
wound  was  very  bad ;  it  discharg'd  much.  Then  the  diar 
rhea  had  prostrated  him,  and  I  felt  that  he  was  even  then 
the  same  as  dying.  He  behaved  very  manly  and  affectionate. 
The  kiss  I  gave  him  as  I  was  about  leaving  he  return'd  four 
fold.  He  gave  me  his  mother's  address,  Mrs.  Sally  B.  "Wil 
ber,  Alleghany  Post-office,  Cattaraugus  County,  N.  Y.  I  had 
several  such  interviews  with  him.  He  died  a  few  days  after 
the  one  just  described. 

Aug.  8. — To-night,  as  I  was  trying  to  keep  cool,  sitting  by 
a  wounded  soldier  in  Armory  Square,  I  was  attracted  by 
some  pleasant  singing  in  an  adjoining  Ward.  As  my  soldier 
was  asleep,  I  left  him,  and  entering  the  Ward  where  the 
music  was,  I  walk'd  half  way  down  and  took  a  seat  by  the 
cot  of  a  young  Brooklyn  friend,  S.  B.,  badly  wounded  in  the 
hand  at  Chancellorsville,  and  who  has  suffer 'd  much,  but 
who  at  that  moment  in  the  evening  was  wide  awake  and 
comparatively  easy.  He  had  turn'd  over  on  his  left  side  to 
get  a  better  view  of  the  singers,  but  the  plentiful  drapery  of 
the  musquito  curtains  of  the  adjoining  cots  obstructed  the 
sight.  I  stept  round  and  loop'd  them  all  up,  so  that  he  had 
a  clear  show,  and  then  sat  down  attain  by  him,  and  look'd 
and  listened.  The  principal  singer  was  a  young  lady  nurse 
of  one  of  the  Wards,  accompanying  on  a  melodeon,  and  join 'd 


22  MEMORANDA 

by  the  lady  nurses  of  other  Wards.  They  sat  there,  making 
a  charming  group,  with  their  handsome,  healthy  faces  ;  ana 
standing  up  a  little  behind  them  were  some  ten  or  fifteen  of 
the  convalescent  soldiers,  young  men,  nurses,  &c.,  with 
books  in  their  hands,  taking  'part  in  the  singing.  Of  course 
it  was  not  such  a  performance  as  the  great  soloists  at  the 
Kew  York  Opera  House  take  a  hand  in  ;  but  I  am  not  sure 
but  I  receiv'd  as  much  pleasure,  under  the  circumstances, 
sitting  there,  as  I  have  had  from  the  best  Italian  composi 
tions,  express'd  by  world-famous  performers The  scene 

was,  indeed,  an  impressive  one.  The  men  lying  up  and  down 
the  hospital,  in  their  cots,  (some  badly  wounded — some  never 
to  rise  thence,)  the  cots  themselves,  with  their  drapery  of 
white  curtains,  and  the  shadows  down  the  lower  and  upper 
parts  of  the  Ward ;  then  the  silence  of  the  men,  and  the  atti 
tudes  they  took — the  whole  was  a  sight  to  look  around  upon 
again  and  again.  And  there,  sweetly  rose  those  female 
voices  up  to  the  high,  whitewash'd  wooden  roof,  and  pleas 
antly  the  roof  sent  it  all  back  again.  They  sang  very  well ; 
mostly  quaint  old  songs  and  declamatory  hymns,  to  fitting 
tunes.  Here,  for  instance,  is  one  of  the  songs  they  sang : 

SHINING  SHORES. 

My  days  are  swiftly  gliding  by.  and  I  a  Pilgrim  stranger, 
Would  not  detain  them  as  they  fly,  those  hours  of  toil  and  danger ; 
For  O  we  stand  on  Jordan's  strand,  our  friends  are  passing  over, 
And  just  before,  the  shining  shores  we  may  almost  discover. 

We'll  gird  our  loins  my  brethren  dear,  our  distant  home  discerning, 
Our  absent  Lord  has  left  us  word,  let  every  lamp  be  burning, 
For  O  we  stand  on  Jordan's  strand,  our  friends  are  passing  over, 
And  just  before,  the  shining  shores  we  may  almost  discover. 

As  the  strains  reverberated  through  the  great  edifice  of 
boards,  (an  excellent  place  for  musical  performers,)  it  was 

flain  to  see  how  it  all  sooth'd  and  was  grateful  to  the  men. 
saw  one  near  me  turn  over,  and  bury  his  face  partially  in 
his  pillow ;  he  was  probably  ashamed  to  be  seen  with  wet 
eyes. 

Aug.  12. — I  see  the  President  almost  every  day,  as  I  hap 
pen  to  live  where  he  passes  to  or  from  his  lodgings  out  of 
town.  He  never  sleeps  at  the  White  House  during  the  hot 
season,  but  has  quarters  at  a  healthy  location,  some  three 
miles  north  of  the  city,  the  Soldiers'  Home,  a  United  States 
military  establishment.  I  saw  him  this  morning  about  8£ 
coming  in  to  business,  riding  on  Vermont  avenue,  near  L 
street.  The  sight  is  a  significant  one,  (and  different  enough 
from  how  and  where  I  first  saw  him.*)  He  always  has  a 

*  I  shall  not  easily  forget  the  first  time  I  saw  Abraham  Lincoln.  It  must 
have  been  about  the  18th  or  19th  of  February,  1861.  It  was  rather  a  pleasant 
spring  afternoon,  in  New  York  city,  as  Lincoln  arrived  there  from  the  West  to 
stop  a  few  hours  and  then  pass  on 'to  Washington,  to  prepare  for  his  inaugura 
tion.  I  saw  him  in  Broadway,  near  the  site  of  the  present  Post-office.  He  had 
come  down,  I  think,  from  Canal  street,  to  stop  at  the  Astor  House.  The  broad 
spaces,  sidewalks,  and  street  in  the  neighborhood,  and  for  some  distance,  were 


DURING  THE  WAR.  23 

company  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  cavalry,  with  sabres  drawn, 
and  held  upright  ever  their  shoulders.  The  party  makes  n© 
great  show  in  uniforms  or  horses.  Mr.  Lincoln,  on  the 
saddle,  generally  rides  a  good-sized  easy-going  gray  horse,  is 
dress'd  iD  plain  black,  somewhat  rusty  and  dusty ;  wears  a 
black  stiff  hat,  and  looks  about  as  ordinary  in  attire,  &c.,  as 
the  commonest  man.  A  Lieutenant,  with  yellow  straps, 
rides  at  his  left,  and  following  behind,  two  by  two,  come  the 
cavalry  men  in  their  yellow-striped  jackets.  They  are  gen 
erally  going  at  a  slow  trot,  as  that  is  the  pace  set  them  by 
the  'One  they  wait  upon.  The  sabres  and  accoutrements 
clank,  and  the  entirely  unornamental  cortege  as  it  trots  to 
wards  Lafayette  square,  arouses  no  sensation,  only  some 
curious  stranger  stops  and  gazes.  I  see  very  plainly  ABRA 
HAM  LINCOLN'S  dark  brown  face,  with  the  deep  cut  lines, 
the  eyes,  &c.,  always  to  me  with  a  deep  latent  sadness  in 
the  expression.  We  have  got  so  that  we  always  exchange 
bows,  and  very  cordial  ones. 

Sometimes  the  President  goes  and  comes  in  an  open 
barouche.  The  cavalry  always  accompany  him,  with  drawn 
sabres.  Often  I  notice  as  he  goes  out  evenings— and  some 
times  in  the  morning,  when  he  returns  early — he  turns  off 
and  halts  at  the  large  and  handsome  residence  of  the  Secre 
tary  of  War,  on  K  street,  and  holds  conference  there.  If  in 
his  barouche,  I  can  see  from  my  window  he  does  not  alight, 
but  sits  in  the  vehicle,  and  Mr.  Stanton  comes  out  to  attend 
him.  Sometimes  one  of  his  sons,  a  boy  of  ten  or  twelve, 
accompanies  him,  riding  at  his  right  on  a  pony. 

Earlier  in  the  summer  I  occasionally  saw  the  President 

crowded  with  solid  masses  of  people,  many  thousands.  The  omnibuses  and 
other  vehicles  had  been  all  turn'd  off,  leaving  an  unusual  hush  in  that  busy 
part  of  the  city.  Presently  two  or  three  shabby  hack  barouches  made  their 
way  with  some  difficulty  through  the  crowd,  and  drew  up  at  the  Astor  House 
entrance.  A  tall  figure  step'd  out  of  the  centre  of  these  barouches,  paus'd 
leisurely  on  the  sidewalk,  look'd  up  at  the  dark  granite  walls  and  looming 
architecture  of  the  grand  old  hotel— then,  after  a  relieving  stretch  of  arms  and 
legs,  turn'd  round  for  over  a  minute  to  slowly  and  good-humoredly  scan  the 
appearance  of  the  vast  and  silent  crowds— and  so,  with  very  moderate  pace, 
and  accompanied  by  a  few  unknown-looking  persons,  ascended  the  portico 
steps. 

The  figure,  the  look,  the  gait,  are  distinctly  impress'd  upon  me  yet ;  the 
unusual  and  uncouth  height,  the  dress  of  complete  black,  the  stovepipe  hat 
push'd  back  on  the  head,  the  dark-brown  complexion,  the  seam'd  and  wrinkled 
yet  canny-looking  face,  the  black,  bushy  head  of  hair,  the  disproportionately 
long  neck,  and  the  hands  held  behind  as  he  stood  observing  the  people.  All 
was  comparative  and  ominous  silence.  The  new  comer  look'd  with  curiosity 
upon  that  immense  sea  of  faces,  and  the  sea  of  faces  return'd  the  look  with 
similar  curiosity.  In  both  there  was  a  dash  of  something  almost  comical.  Yet 
there  was  much  anxiety  in  certain  quarters.  Cautious  persons  had  fear'd  that 
there  would  be  some  outbreak,  some  mark'd  indignity  or  insult  to  the  Presi 
dent  elect  on  his  passage  through  the  city,  for  he  possess'd  no  personal  popu 
larity  in  New  York,  and  not  much  political.  No  such  outbreak  or  insult,  how 
ever,  occurr'd.  Only  the  silence  of  the  crowd  was  very  significant  to  those 
who  were  accustom'd  to  the  usual  demonstrations  of  New  York  in  wild, 
tumultuous  hurrahs— the  deafening  tumults  of  welcome,  and  the  thunder- 
shouts  of  pack'd  myriads  along  the  whole  line  of  Broadway,  receiving  Hunga 
rian  Kossuth  or  Filibuster  Walker. 


24  MEMORANDA 

and  his  wife,  toward  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon,  out  in  a 
barouche,  on  a  pleasure  ride  through  the  citj.  Mrs.  Lincoln 
was  dress'd  in  complete  black,  with  a  long  crape  veil.  The 
equipage  is  of  the  plainest  kind,  only  two  horses,  and  they 
nothing  extra.  They  pass'd  me  once  very  close,  and  I  saw 
the  President  in  the  face  fully,  as  they  were  moving  slow, 
and  his  look,  though  abstracted,  happen'd  to  be  directed 
steadily  in  my  eye.  He  bow'd  and  smiled,  but  far  beneath 
his  smile  I  noticed  well  the  expression  I  have  alluded  to. 
None  of  the  artists  or  pictures  have  caught  the  deep,  though 
subtle  and  indirect  expression  of  this  man's  face.  There°is 
something  else  there.  One  of  the  great  portrait  painters  of 
two  or  three  centuries  ago  is  needed. 

Heated  term. — There  has  lately  been  much  suffering  here 
from  heat.  We  have  had  it  upon  us  now  eleven  days.  I 
go  around  with  an  umbrella  and  a  fan.  I  saw  two  cases  of 
sun-stroke  yesterday,  one  in  Pennsylvania  avenue,  and  an 
other  in  Seventh  street.  The  City  Railroad  Company  loses 
some  horses  every  day.  Yet  Washington  is  having  a  livelier 
August,  and  is  probably  putting  in  a  more  energetic  and 
satisfactory  summer,  than  ever  before  during  its  existence. 
There  is  probably  more  human  electricity,  more  population 
to  make  it,  more  business,  more  light-heartedness,  than  ever 
before.  The  armies  that  swiftly  circumambiated  from  Fred- 
ericksburgh,  march'd,  struggled,  fought,  had  out  their  mighty 
clinch  and  hurl  at  Gettysburgh,  wheel'd,  have  circumambi 
ated  again,  return'd  to  their  ways,  touching  us  not,  either  at 
their  going  or  coming.  And  Washington  feels  that  she  has 
pass'd  the  worst ;  perhaps  feels  that  she  is  henceforth  mis 
tress.  So  here  she  sits  with  her  surrounding  hills  and  shores 
spotted  with  guns ;  and  is  conscious  of  a  character  and  iden 
tity  different  ~from  what  it  was  five  or  six  short  weeks  ago, 
and  very  considerably  pleasanter  and  prouder. 

Soldiers  and  Talks. — Soldiers,  soldiers,  soldiers,  you  meet 
everywhere  about  the  city,  often  superb  looking  men,  though 
invalids  dress'd  in  worn  uniforms,  and  carrying  canes  or 
crutches.  I  often  have  talks  with  them,  occasionally  quite 
long  and  interesting.  One,  for  instance,  will  have  been  all 
through  the  Peninsula  under  McClellan — narrates  to  me 
the  fights,  the  marches,  the  strange,  quick  changes  of  that 
eventful  campaign,  and  gives  glimpses  of  many  things  un 
told  in  any  official  reports  or  books  or  journals.  These,  in 
deed,  are  the  things  that  are  genuine  and  precious.  The 
man  was  there,  has  been  out  two  years,  has  been  through  a 
dozen  fights,  the  superfluous  flesh  of  talking  is  long  work'd 
off  him,  and  now  he  gives  me  little  but  the  hard  meat  and 

sinew I  find  it  refreshing,  these  hardy,  bright,  intuitive, 

American  young  men,  (experienced  soldiers  with  all  their 
youth.)  The  vital  play  and  significance  moves  one  more 
than  books.  Then  there  hangs  something  majestic  about  a 


DURING  THE  WAR.  25 

man  who  has  borne  his  part  in  battles,  especially  if  he  is 
very  quiet  regarding  it  when  you  desire  him  to  unbosom.  I 
am  continually  lost  at  the  absence  of  blowing  and  blowers 
among  these  old-young  American  militaires.'  I  have  found 
some  man  or  another  who  has  been  in  every  battle  since  the 
War  began,  and  have  talk'd-with  them  about  each  one,  in 
every  part  of  the  United  States,  and  many  of  the  engage 
ments  on  the  rivers  and  harbors  too.  I  find  men  hereYrom 
every  State  in  the  Union,  without  exception.  (There  are 
more  Southerners,  especially  Border  State  men,  in  the  Union 
army  than  is  generally  supposed.)  I  now  doubt  whether  one 
can  get  a  fair  idea  of  what  this  War  practically  is,  or  what 
genuine  America  is,  and  her  character,  without  some  such 
experience  as  this  I  am  having. 

Death  of  a  Wisconsin  Officer.— Another  characteristic  scene 
of  that  dark  and  bloody  1863,  from  notes  of  my  visit  to 
Armory  Square  Hospital,  one  hot  but  pleasant  summer  day. 

In  Ward  H  we  approach  the  cot  of  a  young  Lieutenant 

of  one  ©f  the  Wisconsin  regiments.  Tread  the  bare  board 
floor  lightly  here,  for  the  pain  and  paniing  of  death  are  in 
this  cot !  I  saw  the  Lieutenant  when  he  was  first  brought 
here  from  Chancellorsville,  and  have  been  with  him  occa 
sionally  from  day  to  day,  and  night  to  night.  He  had  been 
getting" along  pretty  well,  till  night  before  last,  when  a  sud 
den  hemorrhage  that  could  not  be  stopt  came  upon  him,  and 
to-day  it  still  continues  at  intervals.  Xotice  that  water-pail 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  with  a  quantity  of  blood  and  bloody 
pieces  of  muslin — nearly  full ;  that  tells  the  story.  The  poor 
young  man  is  lying  panting,  struggling  painfully  for  breath, 
his  great  dark  eyes  with  a  glaze  already  upon  them,  and  the 
choking  faint  but  audible  in  his  throat.  An  attendant  sits 
by  him,  and  will  not  leave  him  till  the  last;  yet  little  ©r 
nothing  can  be  done.  He  will  die  here  in  an  hour  or  two 
without  the  presence  of  kith  or  kin.  Meantime  the  ordinary 
chat  and  business  of  the  Ward  a  little  way  off  goes  on  in 
differently.  Some  of  the  inmates  are  laughing  and  joking, 
others  are  playing  checkers  or  cards,  others  are  reading,  &c. 
(I  have  noticed  through  most  of  the  hospitals  that  as  long  as 
there  is  any  chance  for  a  man,  no  matter  how  bad  he  may 
be,  the  surgeon  and  nurses  work  hard,  sometimes  with  curi 
ous  tenacity,  for  his  life,  doing  everything,  and  keeping  some 
body  by  him  to  execute  the  doctor's  orders,  and  minister  to 

him  every  minute  night  and  day See  that  screen  there. 

As  you  advance  through  the  dusk  of  early  candle-light,  a 
nurse  will  step  forth  on  tip-toe,  and  silently  but  imperiously 
forbid  you  to  make  any  noise,  or  perhaps  to  come  near  at 
all.  Some  soldier's  life  is  nickering  there,  suspended  be 
tween  recovery  and  death.  Perhaps  at  this  moment  the  ex 
hausted  frame  has  just  fallen  into  a  light  sleep  that  a  step 
might  shake.  You  must  retire.  The  neighboring  patients 


26  MEMORANDA 

must  move  in  their  stocking  feet.  I  have  been  several 
times  struck  with  such  mark'd  efforts— everything  bent  to 
save  a  life  from  the  very  grip  of  the  destroyer.  But  when 
that  grip  is  once  firmly  fix'd,  leaving  no  hope  or  chance  at 
all,  the  surgeon  abandons  the  patient.  If  it  is  a  case  where 
stimulus  is  any  relief,  the  nurse  gives  milk-punch  or  brandy, 
or  whatever  is  wanted,  ad  libitum.  There  is  no  fuss  made. 
Not  a  bit  of  sentimentalism  or  whining  have  I  seen  about  a 
single  death-bed  in  hospital  or  on  the  field,  but  generally 
impassive  indifference.  All  is  over,  as  far  as  any  efforts  can 
avail ;  it  is  useless  to  expend  emotions  or  labors.  While 
there  is  a  prospect  they  strive  hard — at  least  most  surgeons 
do;  but  death  certain  and  evident,  they  yield  the  field.) 

Aug.,  Sep.,  and  Oct.,  ^?>—The  Hospitals.— I  am  in  the  habit 
of  going  to  all,  and  to  Fairfax  Seminary,  Alexandria,  and 
over  Long  Bridge  to  the  great  Convalescent  Camp,  &c.  The 
journals  publish  a  regular  directory  of  them— a  long  list. 
As  a  specimen  of  almost  any  one  of  "'.he  larger  of  these  Hos 
pitals,  fancy  to  yourself  a  space  of  three  to  twenty  acres  of 
ground,  on  which  are  group'd  ten  or  twelve  very  large 
wooden  barracks,  with,  perhaps,  a  dozen  or  twenty,  and 
sometimes  more  than  that  number,  of  small  buildings,  ca 
pable  altogether  of  accommodating  from  five  hundred  to  a 
thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  persons.  Sometimes  these 
wooden  barracks  or  Wards,  each  of  them,  perhaps,  from  a 
hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  are  ranged  in  a 
straight  row,  evenly  fronting  the  street ;  others  are  planned 
so  as  to  ferm  an  immense  V  ;  and  others  again  are  ranged 
around  a  hollow  square.  They  make  altogether  a  huge  clus 
ter,  with  the  additional  tents,  extra  wards  for  contagious 
diseases,  guard-houses,  sutler's  stores,  chaplain's  house,  &c. 
In  the  middle  will  probably  be  an  edifice  devoted  to  the  of 
fices  of  the  Surgeon  in  Charge,  and  the  Ward  Surgeons, 
principal  attaches,  clerks,  &c.  Then  around  this  centre  radi 
ate  or  are  gathered  the  Wards  for  the  wounded  and  sick. 
The  Wards  are  either  letter'd  alphabetically,  Ward  G,  Ward 
K,  or  else  numerically,  1,2,3,  &c.  Each  has  its  Ward  Sur 
geon  and  corps  of  nurses.  Of  course,  there  is,  in  the  aggre 
gate,  quite  a  muster  of  employes,  and  over  all  the  Surgeon 
in  Charge. 

The  newspaper  reader  off  through  the  agricultural  regions, 
East  or  West,  sees  frequent  allusions  to  these  Hospitals, 
but  has  probably  no  clear  idea  of  them.  Here  in  Washing 
ton,  when  they  are  all  fill'd,  (as  they  have  been  already 
seyeral  times,)  they  contain  a  population  more  numerous  in 
itself  than  the  whole  of  the  Washington  of  ten  or  fifteen 
years  ago.  Within  sight  of  the  Capitol,  as  I  write,  are  some 
fifty  or  sixty  such  collections  or  camps,  at  times  holding 
from  fifty  to  seventy  thousand  men.  Looking  from  any  emi 
nence  and  studying  the  topography  in  my  rambles,  I  use 


DURING  THE  WAR.  27 

them  as  landmarks.  Through  the  rich  August  verdure  of 
the  trees  see  that  white  group  of  buildings  off  yonder  in  the 
outskirts ;  then  another  cluster  half  a  mile  to  the  left  of  the 
first;  then  another  a  mile  to  the  right,  and  another  a  mile 
beyond,  and  still  another  between  us  and  the  first.  Indeed, 
we  can  hardly  look  in  any  direction  but  these  grim  clusters 
are  dotting  the  beautiful  landscape  and  environs.  That  lit 
tle  town,  as  you  might  suppose  it,  off  there  on  the  brow  of 
a  hill,  is  indeed  a  town,  but  of  wounds,  sickness,  and  death. 
It  is  Finley  Hospital,  northeast  of  the  city,  on  Kendall 
Green,  as  it  used  to  be  call'd.  That  other  is  (Campbell  Hos 
pital.  Both  are  large  establishments.  I  have  known  these 
two  alone  to  have  from  two  thousand  to  twenty-five  hundred 
inmates.  Then  there  is  Carver  Hospital,  larger  still,  a 
wall'd  and  military  city  regularly  laid  out,  and  guarded  by 
squads  of  sentries.  Again,  offcast,  Lincoln  Hospital,  a  still 
larger  one;  and  half  a  mile  further  Emory  Hospital.  Still 
sweeping  the  eye  around  down  the  river  toward  Alexandria, 
we  see,  to  the  right,  the  locality  where  the  Convalescent 
Camp  stands,  with  its  five,  eight,  or  sometimes  ten  thousand 
inmates.  Even  all  these  are  but  a  portion.  The  Hare  wood, 
Mount  Pleasant,  Armory  Square,  Judiciary  Hospitals,  are 
some  of  the  rest,  already  mention'd,  and  all  of  them  large 
collections. 

Oct.  20.— To-night,  after  leaving  the  Hospital,  at  10  o'cl'k, 
(I  had  been  on  self-imposed  duty  some  five  hours,  pretty 
closely  confined,)  I  wander'd  a  long  time  around  Washing 
ton.  The  night  was  sweet,  very  clear,  sufficiently  cool,  a 
voluptuous  half-moon  slightly  golden,  the  space  near  it  of  a 
transparent  tinge.  I  walk'd  up  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  and 
then  to  Seventh  street,  and  a  long  while  round  the  Patent 
Office.  Somehow  it  look'd  rebukefully  strong,  majestic, 
there  in  the  delicate  moonlight.  The  sky,  the  planets,  the 
constellations  all  so  bright,  so  calm,  so  expressively  silent, 
so  soothing,  after  those  Hospital  scenes.  I  wander'd  to  and 
i'ro  till  the  moist  moon  set,  long  after  midnight. 

Spiritual  Characters  Among  the  Soldiers. — Every  now  and 
then  in  Hospital  or  Camp,  there  are  beings  I  meet — speci 
mens  of  unworldliness,  disinterestedness  and  animal  purity 
and  heroism — perhaps  some  unconscious  Indianian,  or  from 
Ohio  or  Tennessee — on  whose  birth  the  calmness  of  heaven 
seems  to  have  descended,  and  whose  gradual  growing  up, 
whatever  the  circumstances  of  work-life  or  change,  or  hard 
ship,  or  small  or  no  education  that  attended  it,  the  power  of 
a  strange,  spiritual  sweetness,  fibre  and  inward  health  have 
also  attended.  Something  veil'd  and  abstracted  is  often  a 
part  of  the  manners  of  these  beings.  I  have  met  them,  I 
say,  not  seldom  in  the  Army,  in  Camp,  and  in  the  j^reat 
Hospitals.  The  Western  regiments  contain  many  of  them. 
They  are  often  young  men,  obeying  the  events  and  occa- 


28  MEMORANDA 

sions  about  them,  marching,  soldiering,  fighting,  foraging, 
cooking,  working  on  farms,  or  at  some  trade^before  the  war- 
unaware  of  their  own  nature,  (as  to  that,  who  is  aware  of  his 
own  nature  ?)  their  companions  only  understanding  that  they 
are  diiferent  from  the  rest,  more  silent,  "something  odd  about 
them,"  and  apt  to  g®  oft"  and  meditate  and  muse  in  solitude. 

Cattle  Droves  About  Washington. — Among  other  sights  are 
immense  droves  of  cattle,  with  their  drivers,  passing  through 
the  streets  of  the  city.  Some  of  the  men  have  a  way  of 
leading  the  cattle  on  by  a  peculiar  call,  a  wild,  pensive  hoot, 
quite  musical,  prolong'd,  indescribable,  sounding  something 
between  the  coo  of  a  pigeon  and  the  hoot  of  an  owl.  1  like 
to  stand  and  look  at  the  sight  of  one  of  these  immense 
droves— a  little  way  off— (as  the  dust  is  great.)  There  are 
always  men  on  horseback,  cracking  their  whips  and  shout 
ing—the  cattle  low— some  obstinate  ox  or  steer  attempts  to 
escape — then  a  lively  scene — the  mounted  men,  always  excel 
lent  riders  and  on  good  horses,  dash  after  the  recusant,  and 
wheel  and  turn — A  dozen  mounted  drovers,  their  irreat, 
slouch'd,  broad-brim'd  hats,  very  picturesque— another 
dozen  on  foot — everybody  cover'd  with  dust — long  goads  in 
their  hands— An  immense  drove  of  perhaps  2000  cattle— the 
shouting,  hooting,  movement,  &c, 

Hospital  Perplexity. — To  add  to  other  troubles,  amid  the 
confusion  of  this  great  army  of  sick,  it  is  almost  impossible 
for  a  stranger  to  find  any  friend  or  relative,  unless  he  has 
the  patient's  address  to  start  upon.  Besides  the  directory 
printed  in  the  newspapers  here,  there  are  one  or  two  general 
directories  of  the  Hospitals  kept  at  Provost's  headquarters, 
but  they  are  nothing  like  complete ;  they  are  never  up  to 
date,  and,  as  things  are,  with  the  daily  streams  of  coming 
and  going  and  changing,  cannot  be.  (I  have  known  cases, 
for  instance,  such  as  a  farmer  coming  here  from  jSTorthern 
ISTew  York  to  find  a  wounded  brother,  faithfully  hunting 
round  for  a  week,  and  then  compell'd  to  leave  and  go  home 
without  getting  any  trace  of  him.  When  he  got  nome  he 
found  a  letter  from  the  brother  giving  the  right  address  in  a 
hospital  in  Seventh  street  here.) 

CULPEPPER,  YA.,  Feb.,  '64.— Here  I  am,  pretty  well  down 
toward  the  extreme  front.  Three  or  four  days  ago  General 
S.,  who  is  now  in  chief  command,  (I  believe  Meade  is  ab 
sent  sick,)  moved  a  strong  force  southward  from  camp  as  if 
intending  business.  They  went  to  the  Rapidan  ;  there  has 
since  been  some  maneuvering  and  a  little  fighting,  but  noth 
ing  of  consequence.  The  telegraphic  accounts  given  Mon 
day  morning  last,  make  entirely  too  much  of  it,  I  should  say. 
What  General  S.  intended  we  here  know  not,  but  we  trust 
in  that  competent  commander.  We  were  somewhat  ex 
cited,  (but  not  so  very  much  either,)  on  Sunday,  during  the 
day  and  night,  as  orders  were  sent  out  to  pack  up  and  har- 


DURING  THE   WAR.  29 

ness,  and  be  ready  to  evacuate,  to  fall  back  toward  Wash 
ington.  I  was  very  sleepy,  and  went  to  bed.  Some  tremen 
dous  shouts  arousing  me  during  the  night,  I  went  forth  and 
found  it  was  from  the  men  above  mention'd,  who  were  re 
turning.  I  talked  with  some  of  the  men.  As  usual  I  found 
them  full  of  gayety,  endurance,  and  many  fine  little  out- 
shows,  the  signs  of  the  most  excellent  good  manliness  of  the 

world It  was  a  curious  sight  to  see  those  shadowy  columns 

moving  through  the  night.  I  stood  unobserv'd  in  the  dark 
ness  and  watch'd  them  long.  The  mud  was  very  deep.  The 
men  had  their  usual  burdens,  overcoats,  knapsacks,  guns 
and  blankets.  Along  and  along  they  filed  by  me,  with  often 
a  laugh,  a  song,  a  cheerful  word,  but  never  once  a  murmur. 
It  may  have  been  odd,  but  I  never  before  so  realized  the 
majesty  and  reality  of  the  American  common  people  proper. 
It  fell  upon  me  like  a  great  awe.  The  strong  ranks  moved 
neither  fast  nor  slow.  They  had  march'd  seven  or  eight 
miles  already  through  the  slipping,  unctious  mud  The 
brave  First  Corps  stopt  here.  The  equally  braye  Third 
Corps  moved  on  to  Brandy  Station. 

The  famous  Brooklyn  14th  are  here,  guarding  the  town. 
You  see  their  red  legs  actively  moving  everywhere.  Then 
they  have  a  theatre  of  their  own  here.  They  give  musical 
performances,  nearly  every  thing  done  capitally.  Of  course 
the  audience  is  a  jam.  It  is  real  good  sport  to  attend  one  of 
these  entertainments  of  the  14th.  I  like  to  look  around  at 
the  soldiers,  and  the  general  collection  of  eager  and  hand 
some  young  faces  in  front  of  the  curtain,  more  than  the  scene 
on  the  stage. 

Paying  the  Bounties.— One  of  the  things  to  note  here  now 
is  the  arrival  of  the  paymaster  with  his  strong  box,  and  the 
payment  of  bounties  to  veterans  re-enlisting.  Major  H.  is 
here  to-day,  with  a  small  mountain  of  greenbacks,  rejoicing 
the  hearts  of  the  2d  division  of  the  1st  Corps.  In  the  midst 
of  a  ricketty  shanty,  behind  a  little  table,  sit  the  Major  and 
Clerk  Eldridge,  with  the  rolls  before  them ,  and  much  moneys. 
Ajre-enlisted  man  gets  in  cash  about  $200  down,  (and  heavy 
instalments  following,  as  the  pay-days  arrive,  one  after  an 
other.  1  The  show  of  the  men  crowding  around  is  quite  ex 
hilarating.  I  like  well  to  stand  and  look.  They  feel  elated, 
their  pockets  full,  and  the  ensuing  furlough,  the  visit  home. 
It  is  a  scene  of  sparkling  eyes  and  flush'd  cheeks.  The 
soldier  has  many  gloomy  and  harsh  experiences,  and  this 
makes  up  for  some  of  them.  Major  H.  is  order'd  to  pay 
first  all  the  re-enlisted  men  of  the  1st  Corps  their  bounties 
and  back  pay,  and  then  the  rest.  You  hear  the  peculiar 
sound  of  the  rustling  of  the  new  and  crisp  greenbacks  by  the 
hour,  through  the  nimble  fingers  of  the  Major  and  my  friend 
Clerk  E. 
Rumors,  Changes,  fyc. — About  the  excitement  of  Sunday, 


30  MEMORANDA 

and  the  orders  to  be  ready  to  start,  I  have  heard  since  that 
the  said  orders  came  from  some  cautious  minor  commander, 
and  that  the  high  principalities  knew  not  and  thought  not  of 
any  such  move  ;  which  is  likely.  The  rumor  and  fear  here 
intimated  a  long  circuit  by  Lee,  and  flank  attack  on  our 
right.  But  I  cast  my  eyes  at  the  mud.  which  was  then  at  its 
highest  and  palmiest  condition,  and  retired  composedly  to 
rest.  Still  it  is  about  time  for  Culpepper  to  have  a  change. 
Authorities  have  chased  each  other  here  like  clouds  in  a 
stormy  sky.  Before  the  first  Bull  Run  this  was  the  rendez 
vous  and  camp  of  instruction  of  the  Secession  troops.  I  am 
stopping  at  the  house  of  ,a  lady  who  has  witness'd  all  the 
eventful  changes  of  the  War,  along  this  route  of  contending 
armies.  She  is  a  widow,  with  a  family  of  young  children, 
and  lives  here  with  her  sister  in  a  large  handsome  house. 
•A  number  of  army  officers  board  with  them. 

Virginia. — Dilapidated,  fenceless,  and  trodden  with  war  as 
Virginia  is,  wherever  I  move  across  her  surface,  I  find  my 
self  rous'd  to  surprise  and  admiration.  What  capacity  for 
products,  improvements,  human  life,  Nourishment  and  ex 
pansion  !  Everywhere  that  I  have  been  in  the  Old  Domin 
ion,  (the  subtle  mockery  of  that  title  now  !)  such  thoughts 
have  fill'd  me.  The  soil  is  yet  far  above  the  average  of  any 
of  the  northern  States.  And  how  full  of  breadth  is  the 
scenery,  everywhere  with  distant  mountains,  everywhere 
convenient  rivers.  Even  yet  prodigal  in  forest  woods,  and 
surely  eligible  for  all  the  fruits,  orchards,  and  flowers. 'The 
skies  and  atmosphere  most  luscious,  as  I  feel  certain,  from 
more  than  a  year's  residence  in  the  State,  and  movements 
hither  and  yon.  1  should  say  very  healthy,  as  a  general 
thing.  Then  a  rich  and  elastic  quality,  by  night  and  by  day. 
The  sun  rejoices  in  his  strength,  dazzling  and  burning,  and 
yet,  to  me,  never  unpleasantly  weakening.  It  is  not  the 
panting  tropical  heat,  but  invigorates.  The  north  tempers 
it.  The  nights  are  often  unsurpassable.  Last  evening  (Feb. 
8,)  I  saw  the  first  of  the  new  m<Don,  the  old  moon  clear  along 
with  it ;  the  sky  and  air  so  clear,  such  transparent  hues  of 
color,  it  seem'd  to  me  I  had  never  really  seen  the  new  moon 
before.  It  was  the  thinnest  cut  crescent  possible.  It  hung 
delicate  just  above  the  sulky  shadow  of  the  Blue  Mountains. 
Ah,  if  it  might  prove  an  omen  and  good  prophecy  for  this  un 
happy  State. 

WASHINGTON  Again — Summer  of  1864. — I  am  back  again 
in  Washington,  on  my  regular  daily  and  nightly  rounds.  Of 
course  there  are  many  specialties.  Dotting  a  Ward  here  and 
there  are  always  cases  of  poor  fellows,  long-suffering  under 
obstinate  wounds,  or  weak  and  dishearten'd  from  typhoid 
fever,  or  the  like  ;  mark'd  cases,  needing  special  and  sympa 
thetic  nourishment.  These  I  sit  down  and  either  talk  to,  or 
silently  cheer  them  up.  They  always  like  it  hugely,  (and  so 


DURING  THE  WAR.  31 

do  I.)  Each  case  has  its  peculiarities,  and  needs  some  new 
adaptation.  1  have  learnt  to  thus  conform — learnt  a  good 
deal  of  hospital  wisdom.  Some  of  the  poor  young  chaps, 
away  irom  home  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  hunger  and 
thirst  for  affection.  This  is  sometimes  the  only  thing  that 

will  reach  their  condition The  men  like  to  have  a  pencil, 

and  something  to  write  in.  I  have  given  them  cheap  pocket- 
diaries,  and  almanacs  for  1864,  interleaved  with  blank  paper. 
For  reading  I  generally  have  some  old  pictorial  magazines 
or  story  papers — they  are  always  acceptable.  Also  the  morn 
ing  or  evening  papers  of  the  day.  The  best  books  I  do  not 
sive,  but  lend  to  read  through  the  Wards,  and  then  take  them 
to  others,  and  so  on.  They  are  very  punctual  about  return 
ing  the  books. 

In  these  Wards,  or  on  the  field,  as  I  thus  continue  to  go 
round,  I  have  come  to  adapt  myself  to  each  emergency,  af 
ter  its  kind  or  call,  however  trivial,  however  solemn — every 
one  justified  and  made  real  under  its  circumstances — not 
only  visits  and  cheering  talk  and  little  gifts — not  only  wash 
ing  and  dressing  wounds,  (I  have  some  cases  where  the  pa 
tient  is  unwilling  any  one  should  do  this  but  me)— but  pass 
ages  from  the  Bible,  expounding  them,  praj or  at  the  bed 
side,  explanations  of  doctrine,  &c.  (I  think  I  see  my  friends 
smiling  at  this  confession,  but  I  was  never  more  in  earnest 
in  my  life.) 

Readings.— In  camp  and  everywhere,  I  was  in  the  habit  of 
reading  to  the  men.  They  were  very  fond  of  it,  and  liked 
declamatory  poetical  pieces.  We  would  gather  in  a  large 
group  by  ourselves,  after  supper,  and  spend  the  time  in  such 
readings,  or  in  talking,  and  occasionally  by  an  amusing  game 
called  the  Game  of  Twenty  Questions. 

A  New  Army  Organization  Fit  for  America  Needed. — It  is 
plain  to  me  out  of  the  events  of  the  War,  North  and  South,  and 
out  of  all  considerations,  that  the  current  Military  theory, 
practice,  rules  and  organization,  (adopted from  Europe  from 
the  feudal  institutes,  with,  of  course,  the  "modern  improve 
ments,"  largely  from  the  French,)  though  tacitly  follow'd, 
and  believ'd  in  by  the  officers  generally,  are  not  at  all  cen- 

sonant  with  the  United  States,  nor  our  people,  nor  our  days 

What  it  will  be  I  know  not— but  I  know  that  as  entire  an 
abnegation  of  the  present  Military  System,  (and  the  Naval 
too,)  and  a  building  up  from  radically  different  root-bases 
and  centres  appropriate  to  us,  must  eventually  result,  as  that 
our  Political  system  has  resulted  and  become  establish'd, 
different  from  feudal  Europe,  and  built  up  on  itself  from 
original,  perennial,  democratic  premises. 

We  have  undoubtedly  in  the  United  States  the  greatest 
Military  power— an  exhaustless,  intelligent,  brave  and  re 
liable  rank  and  file— in  the  world,  any  land,  perhaps  all  lands. 
The  problem  is  to  organize  this  in  the  manner  fully  ap- 


32  MEMORANDA 

propriate  to  it,  to  the  principles  of  the  Republic,  and  to  get 
the  best  service  out  of  it.  In  the  present  struggle,  as  already 
seen  and  review'd,  probably  three-fourths  of  the  losses,  men, 
lives,  &c.,  have  been  sheer  superfluity,  extravagance, 
waste.  The  body  and  bulk  come  out  more  and  more  superb— 
the  practical  Military  system,  directing  power,  crude,  illegiti 
mate — worse  than  deficient,  offensive,  radically  wrong. 

Death  of  a  Hero. — I  wonder  if  I  could  ever  convey  to  an 
other—to  you,  for  instance,  Reader  dear— the  tender  and 
terrible  realities  of  such  cases,  (many,  many  happen'd,)  as 

the  one  I  am  now  going  to  mention Stewart  C.  Glover, 

Co.  E,  Fifth  Wisconsin — was  wounded, May  5,  in  one  of  those 
fierce  tussles  of  the  Wilderness — died  May  21 — aged  about 
20.  (He  was  a  small  and  beardless  young  man — a  splendid 
soldier — in  fact,  almost  an  ideal  American,  of  common  life, 
of  his  age.  He  had  serv'd  nearly  three  years,  and  would 
have  been  entitled  to  his  discharge  in  a  few  days.  He  was 

in  Hancock's  Corps.) The  fighting  had  about  ceas'd  for 

the  day,  and  the  General  commanding  the  brigade  rode  by 
and  call'd  for  volunteers  to  bring  in  the  wounded.  Glover 
responded  among  the  first — went  out  gayly — but  while  in 
the  act  of  bearing  in  a  wounded  sergeant  to  our  lines,  was 
shot  in  the  knee  by  a  rebel  sharpshooter.  Consequence, 

amputation  and  death He  had  resided  with  his  father, 

John  Glover,  an  aged  and  feeble  man,  in  Batavia,  Genesee 
Co.,  X.  Y.,  but  was  at  school  in  Wisconsin,  after  the  War 
broke  out,  and  there  enlisted — soon  took  to  soldier-life, 
liked  it,  was  very  manly,  was  belov'd  by  officers  and  com 
rades He  kept  a  little  diary,  like  so  many  of  the  soldiers. 

On  the  day  of  his  death,  he  wrote  the  following  in  it :  To 
day,  the  doctor  says  I  must  die — all  is  over  with  me — ah,  so 
young  to  die.  On  another  blank  leaf  he  pencill'd  to  his  bro 
ther,  Dear  brother  Thomas,  I  have  been  brave,  but  wicked — pray 
for  me. 

A  Slight  Glimpse. — It  is  Sunday  afternoon,  middle  of  sum 
mer,  hot  and  oppressive,  and  very  silent  through  the  Ward. 
I  am  taking  care  of  a  critical  case,  now  lying  in  a  half  leth 
argy.  Near  where  I  sit  is  a  suffering  rebel,  from  the  Eighth 
Louisiana ;  his  name  is  Irving.  He  has  been  here  a  long 
time,  badly  wounded,  and  lately  had  his  leg  amputated.  It 
is  not  doing  very  well.  Right  opposite  me  is  a  sick  soldier- 
boy,  laid  down  with  his  clothes  on,  sleeping,  looking  much 
wasted,  his  pallid  face  on  his  arm.  I  see  by  the  yellow 
trimming  on  his  jacket  that  he  is  a  cavalry  boy.  He  looks 
so  handsome  as  he  sleeps,  one  must  needs  go  nearer  to  him. 
I  step  softly  over  and  find  by  his  card  that  he  is  named  Wil 
liam  Cone,  of  the  First  Maine  Cavalry,  and  his  folks  live  in 
Skowhegan. 

Ice  Cream  Treat. — One  hot  day  toward  the  middle  of  June, 
I  gave  the  inmates  of  Carver  Hospital  a  general  ice  cream 


DURING  THE  WAR.  33 

treat,  purchasing  a  large  quantity,  and,  under  convoy  of  the 
doctor  or  head  nurse  of  each  Ward,  going  around  personally 
through  the  Wards  t©  see  to  its  distribution. 

An  Incident. — In  one  of  the  fights  before  Atlanta,  a  rebel 
soldier,  of  large  size,  evidently  a  young  man,  was  mortally 
wounded  in  top  of  the  head,  so  that  the  brains  partially  ex 
uded.  He  lived  three  days,  lying  on  his  back  on  the  spot 
where  he  first  dropt.  He  dug  with  his  heel  in  the  ground 
during  that  time  a  hole  big  enough  to  put  in  a  couple  of  or 
dinary  knapsacks.  He  just  lay  there  in  the  open  air,  and 
with  little  intermission  kept  his  heel  going  night  and  day. 
Some  of  our  soldiers  then  moved  him  to  a  house,  but  he  died 
in  a  few  minutes. 

Another. — After  the  battles  at  Columbia,  Tennessee,  where 
we  repuls'd  about  a  score  of  vehement  rebel  charges,  they 
left  a  great  many  wounded  on  the  ground,  mostly  within  our 
range.  Whenever  any  of  these  wounded  attempted  to  move 
away  by  any  means,  generally  by  crawling  off,  our  men 
without  exception,  brought  them  down  by  a  bullet.  They 
let  none  crawl  away,  no  matter  what  his  condition. 

A  Yankee  Soldier. — As  I  turn'd  off  the  Avenue  one  cool 
October  evening  into  Thirteenth  street,  a  soldier  with  knap 
sack  and  overcoat  on,  stood  at  the  corner  inquiring  his  way. 
I  found  he  wanted  to  go  part  of  the  road  in  my  direction,  so 
we  walk'd  on  together.  We  soon  fell  into  conversation. 
He  was  small  and  not  very  young,  and  a  tough  little  fellow, 
as  I  judged  in  the  evening  light,  catching  glimpses  by  the 
lamps  we  pass'd.  His  answers  were  short,  but  clear.  His 
name  was  Charles  Carroll ;  he  belong'd  to  one  of  the  Massa 
chusetts  regiments,  and  was  born  in  or  near  Lynn.  His 
parents  were  living,  but  were  very  old.  There  were  four 
sons,  and  all  had  enlisted.  Two  had  died  of  starvation  and 
misery  in  the  prison  at  Anderson ville,  and  one  had  been 
kill'd  in  the  West.  He  only  was  left.  He  was  now  going 
home,  and,  by  the  way  he  talk'd,  I  inferr'd  that  his  time  was 
nearly  out.  He  made  great  calculations  on  being  with  his 
parents  to  comfort  them  the  rest  of  their  days. 

Union  Prisoners  South— Salisbury. — Michael  Stansbury. 
48  years  of  age,  a  sea-faring  man,  a  Southerner  by  birth  and 
raising,  formerly  Captain  of  U.  S.  light  ship  Long  Shoal, 
station'd  at  Long  Shoal  Point,  Pamlico  Sound — though  a 
Southerner,  a  firm  Union  man — was  captur'd  Feb.  17,  1863, 
and  has  been  nearly  two  years  in  the  Confederate  prisons  ; 
was  at  one  time  order'd  releas'd  by  Governor  Vance,  but  a 
rebel  officer  re-arrested  him ;  then  sent  on  to  Richmond  for 
exchange — but  instead  of  being  exchanged  was  sent  down 
(as  a  Southern  citizen,  not  a  soldier,)  to  Salisbury,  N.  C., 
where  he  remained  until  lately,  when  he  escaped  among 
the  exchanged  by  assuming  the  name  of  a  dead  soldier, 
and  coming  up  via  Wilmington  with  the  rest.  Was  about 
5 


34  MEMORANDA 

sixteen  months  in  Salisbury.  Subsequent  to  October  '64, 
there  were  about  11,000  Union  prisoners  in  the  stockade : 
about  100  of  them  Southern  Unionists,  200  U.  S.  deserters. 
During  the  past  winter  1500  of  the  prisoners,  to  save  their 
lives,  join'd  the  Confederacy,  on  condition  of  being  assign'd 
merely  to  guard  duty,  &c.  Out  of  the  11,000  not  more  than 
2,500  came  out ;  500  of  these  were  pitiable,  helpless  wretches— 
the  rest  were  in  a  condition  to  travel.  There  were  often  60 
dead  bodies  to  be  buried  in  the  morning ;  the  daily  average 
would  be  about  40.  The  regular  food  Vas  a  meal  of  corn, 
the  cob  and  husk  ground  together,  and  sometimes  once  a 
week  a  ration  of  sorghum  molasses.  A  diminutive  ration 

of  meat  might  possibly  come  once  a  month,  not  oftener 

In  the  stockade,  containing  the  11,000  men,  there  was  a  par 
tial  show  of  tents,  (not  enough  for  2,000.)  A  large  propor 
tion  of  the  men  lived  in  holes  in  the  ground,  in  the  utmost 
wretchedness.  Some  froze  to  death,  others  had  their  hands 
and  feet  frozen.  The  rebel  guards  would  occasionally,  and 
on  the  least  pretence,  fire  into  the  prison  from  mere  demon- 
ism  and  wantonness.  All  the  horrors  that  can  be  named, 
cruelty,  starvation,  lassitude,  filth,  vermin,  despair,  swift 
loss  of  self-respect,  idiocy,  insanity,  and  frequent  murder, 

were  there Stansbury  has  a  wife  and  child  living  in  New- 

bern— has  written  to  them  from  here— is  in  the  U.  S.  Light 
House  employ  still — (had  been  home  to  Kewbern  to  see  his 
family,  and  on  his  return  to  light  ship  was  captured  in  his 

boat.) Has  seen  men  brought  there  to  Salisbury  as  hearty 

as  you  ever  see  in  your  life— in  a  few  weeks  completely  dead 
gone?  much  of  it  from  thinking  on  their  condition — hope  all 

gone Has  himself  a  hard,  sad,  strangely  expressive,  dead- 

en'd  kind  of  look,  as  of  one  chill'd  for  years  in  the  cold  and 
dark,  where  his  good  manly  nature  had  no  room  to  exercise 
itself. 

Deserters — Saturday,  Oct.  24. — Saw  a  large  squad  of  our 
own  deserters,  (over  300)  surrounded  with  a  strong  cordon  of 
arm'd  guards,  marching  along  Pennsylvania  avenue.  The 
most  motley  collection  I  ever  saw,  all  sorts  of  rig,  all  sorts 
of  hats  and  caps,  many  fine-looking  young  fellows,  some  of 
them  shame-faced,  some  sickly,  most  of  them  dirty,  shirts 
very  dirty  and  long  worn,  &c.  They  tramp'd  along  without 
order,  a  huge  huddling  mass,  not  in  ranks.  I  saw  some  of 
the  spectators  laughing,  but  I  felt  like  anything  else  but 
laughing. 

These  deserters  are  far  more  numerous  than  would  be 
thought.  Almost  every  day  I  see  squads  of  them,  sometimes 
two  or  three  at  a  time,  with  a  small  guard;  sometimes  ten 
or  twelve,  under  a  larger  one.  (I  hear  that  desertions  from 
the  army  nowr  in  the  field  have  often  averaged  10,000  a  month. 
One  of  the  commonest  sights  in  Washington  is  a  squad  of 
deserters.  I  often  think  it  curious  that  the  military  and 
civil  operations  do  not  clash,  but  they  never  do  here.) 


DURING  THE  WAR.  35 

A  Glimpse  of  War's  Hell- Scenes. —In  one  of  the  late  move 
ments  of  our  troops  in  the  Valley,  (near  Upperville,  I  think,) 
a  strong  force  of  Moseby's  mounted  guerillas  attack'd  a  train 
of  wounded,  and  the  guard  of  cavalry  convoying  them.  The 
ambulances  contain'd  about  60  wounded,  quite  a  number  of 
them  officers  of  rank.  The  rebels  were  in  strength,  and  the 
capture  of  the  train  and  its  partial  guard  after  a  short  snap 
was  effectually  accomplish'd. 

Ko  sooner  had  our  men  surrender'd,  the  rebels  instantly 
commenced  robbing  the  train,  and  murdering  their  prisoners, 
even  the  wounded.  Here  is  the  scene,  or  a  sample  of  it,  ten 
minutes  after.  Among  the  wounded  officers  in  the  ambu 
lances  were  one,  a  Lieutenant  of  regulars,  and  another  of 
higher  rank.  These  two  were  dragg'd  out  on  the  ground  on 
their  backs,  and  were  now  surrounded  by  the  guerillas,  a 
demoniac  crowd,  each  member  of  which  was  stabbing  them 
in  different  parts  of  their  bodies.  One  of  the  officers  had 
his  feet  pinn'd  firmly  to  the  ground  by  bayonets  stuck 
through  them  and  thrust  into  the  ground.  These  two  offi 
cers,  as  afterwards  found  on  examination,  had  receiv'd  about 
twenty  such  thrusts,  some  of  them  through  the  mouth,  face, 
&c.  The  wounded  had  all  been  dragg'd  (to  give  a  better 
chance  also  for  plunder,)  out  of  their  wagons  ;  some  had 
been  effectually  dispatch'd,  and  their  bodies  lying  there  life 
less  and  bloody.  Others,  not  yet  dead,  but  horribly  muti 
lated,  were  moaning  or  groaning.  Of  our  men  who  surren 
der'd,  most  had  been  thus  maim'd  or  slaughter'd. 

At  this  instant  a  force  of  our  cavalry,  who  had  been  follow 
ing  the  train  at  some  interval,  charged  suddenly  upon  the 
Secesh  captors,  who  proceeded  at  once  to  make  the  best  es 
cape  they  could.  Most  of  them  got  away,  but  we  gobbled 
two  officers  and  seventeen  men,  as  it  were  in  the  very  acts 
just  described.  The  sight  was  one  which  admitted  of  little 
discussion,  as  may  be  imagined.  The  seventeen  captured 
men  and  two  officers  were  put  under  guard  for  the  night,  but 
it  was  decided  there  and  then  that  they  should  die. 

Tho  next  morning  the  two  officers  were  taken  in  the  town, 
separate  places,  put  in  the  centre  of  the  street,  and  shot. 
The  seventeen  men  were  taken  to  an  open  ground,  a  little  to 
one  side.  They  were  placed  in  a  hollow  square ,  encompass'd  by 
two  of  our  cavalry  regiments,  one  of  which  regiments  had  three 
days  before  found  the  bloody  corpses  of  three'of  their  men  ham 
strung  and  hung  up  by  the  heels  to  limbs  of  trees  by  Moseby's 
guerillas,  and  the  other  had  not  long  before  had  twelve  men, 
after  surrendering,  shot  and  then  hung  ty  the  neck  to  limbs 
of  trees,  and  jeering  inscriptions  pinn'd  to  the  breast  of  one 
of  the  corpses,  who  had  been  a  sergeant.  Those  three,  and 
those  twelve,  had  been  found,  I  say,  by  these  environing 
regiments.  Now,  with  revolvers,  they  form'd  the  grim  cor 
don  of  their  seventeen  prisoners.  The  latter  were  placed 


36  MEMORANDA 

in  the  midst  of  the  hollow  square,  were  unfasten'd,  and  the 
ironical  remark  made  to  them  that  they  were  now  to  be 
given  "a  chance  for  themselves."  A  few  ran  for  it.  But  what 
use  ?  From  every  side  the  deadly  pills  came.  In  a  few 

minutes  the  seventeen  corpses  strew'd  the  hollow  square 

I  was  curious  to  know  whether  some  of  the  Union  soldiers, 
some  few,  (some  one  or  two  at  least  of  the  youngsters,)  did 
not  abstain  from  shooting  on  the  helpless  men.  Not  one. 
There  was  no  exultation,  very  little  said ;  almost  nothing, 
yet  every  man  there  contributed  his  shot. 

(Multiply  the  above  by  scores,  aye  hundreds — yarify  it  in 
all  the  forms  that  different  circumstances,  individuals,  places, 
&c.,  could  afford — light  it  with  every  lurid  passion,  the  wolFs, 
the  lion's  lapping  thirst  for  blood,  the  passionate,  boiling 
volcanoes  of  human  revenge  for  comrades,  brothers  slain — 
with  the  light  of  burning  farms,  and  heaps  of  smutting, 
smouldering  black  embers — and  in  the  human  heart  every 
where  black,  worse  embers — and  you  have  an  inkling  of  this 
War.) 

Gifts — Money — Discrimination. — As  a  very  large  propor 
tion  of  the  wounded  still  come  up  from  the  front  without  a 
cent  of  money  in  their  pockets,  I  soon  discovered  that  it  was 
about  the  best  thing  I  could  do  to  raise  their  spirits,  and 
show  them  that  somebody  cared  for  them,  and  practically 
felt  a  fatherly  or  brotherly  interest  in  them,  to  give  them 
small  sums,  in  such  cases,  using  tact  and  discretion  about  it. 
I  am  regularly  supplied  with  funds  for  this  purpose  by  good 
women  and  men  in  Boston,  Salem,  Providence,  Brooklyn, 
and  New  York.  I  provide  myself  with  a  quantity  of  bright, 
new  ten-cent  and  five-cent  bills,  and,  when  I  think  it  incum 
bent,  I  give  25  or  30  cents,  or  perhaps  50  cents,  and  occa 
sionally  a  still  larger  sum  to  some  particular  case. 

As  I  have  recurr'd  to  this  subject  several  times,  I  may 
take  opportunity  to  ventilate  and  sum  up  the  financial  ques 
tion.  My  supplies,  altogether  voluntary,  mostly  confiden 
tial,  often  seeming  quite  Providential,  were  numerous  and 
varied.  For  instance,  there  were  two  distant  and  wealthy 
ladies,  sisters,  who  sent  regularly,  for  two  years,  quite  heavy 
sums,  enjoining  that  their  names  should  be  kept  secret. 
The  same  delicacy  was  indeed  a  frequent  condition.  From 
several  I  had  carte  blanche.  Many  were  entire  strangers. 
From  these  sources,  during  from  two  to  three  years,  in  the 
manner  described,  in  the  Hospitals,  I  bestow'd,  as  almoner 
for  others,  many,  many  thousands  of  dollars.  I  learn'd  one 
thing  conclusively — that  beneath  all  the  ostensible  greed 
and  heartlessness  of  our  times  there  is  no  end  to  the  gener 
ous  benevolence  of  men  and  women  in  the  United  States, 
when  once  sure  of  their  object.  Another  thing  became  clear 
to  me — while  cash  is  not  amiss  to  bring  up  the  rear,  tact  and 
magnetic  sympathy  and  unction  are,  and  ever  will  be,  sov 
ereign  still. 


DURING  THE   WAR.  37 

Items  Wanted— -(From  my  Note  Books.}— Some  of  the  half- 
erased  and  not  over-legible  when  made,  memoranda  of  things 
wanted,  by  one  patient  or  another,  will  convey  quite  afair  idea. 
D.  S.  G.  bed  52,  wants  a  good  book ;  has  a  sore,  weak  throat ; 
would  like  some  horehound  candy.  Is  from  New  Jersey, 

28th  regiment C.  H.  L.,  145th  Pennsylvania,  lies  in  bed 

6,  with  jaundice  and  erysipelas ;  also  wounded.  Stomach 
easily  nauseated.  Brine:  him  some  oranges,  also  a  little  tart 
jelly.  Hearty,  full-blooded  young  fellow.  (He  got  better 

in  a  few  days,  and  is  now  home  on  a  furlough.) J.  H.  G., 

bed  24,  wants  an  undershirt,  drawers  and  socks.  Has  not 
had  a  change  for  quite  a  while.  Is  evidently  a  neat  clean 
boy  from  New  England.  I  supplied  him  ;  also  with  a  comb, 
tooth-brush,  and  some  soap  and  towels.  I  noticed  afterward 

he  was  the  cleanest  of  the  whole  Ward Mrs.  G.,  lady, 

nurse,  Ward  F.,  wants  a  bottle  of  brandy — has  two  patients 
imperatively  requiring  stimulus — low  with  wounds  and  ex 
haustion.  (I  supplied  her  with  a  bottle  of  first-rate  brandy, 
from  the  Christian  Commission  rooms.) 

A  Case  from  Second  Butt  .BMW.— Well,  poor  John  Mahay 
is  dead.  He  died  yesterday.  His  was  a  painful  and  long 
lingering  case,  (see  p.  10,  ante.}  I  have  been  with  him  at 
times  for  the  past  fifteen  months.  He  belonged  to  Company 
A,  One,  Hundred  and  First  New  York,  and  was  shot  through 
the  lower  region  of  the  abdomen  at  second  Bull  Run,  August, 
'62.  One  scene  at  his  bedside  will  suffice  for  the  agonies  of 
nearly  two  years.  The  bladder  had  been  perforated  by  a 
bullet  going  entirely  through  him.  Not  long  since  I  sat  a 
good  part  of  the  morning  by  his  bedside,  Ward  E,  Armory 
Square.  The  water  raa  out  of  his  eyes  from  the  intense 
pain,  and  the  muscles  of  his  face  were  distorted,  but  he 
utter'd  nothing  except  a  low  groan  now  and  then.  Hot  moist 
cloths  were  applied,  and  reliev'd  him  somewhat.  Poor 
Mahay,  a  mere  boy  in  age,  but  old  in  misfortune.  He  never 
knew  the  love  of  parents,  was  placed  in  his  infancy  in  one 
of  the  New  York  charitable  institutions,  and  subsequently 
bound  out  to  a  tyrannical  master  in  Sullivan  County,  (the 
scars  of  whose  cowhide  and  club  remain 'd  yet  on  his  back.) 
His  wound  here  was  a  most  disagreeable  one,  for  he  was  a 
gentle,  cleanly  and  affectionate  boy.  He  found  friends  in 
his  hospital  life,  and,  indeed,  was  a  universal  favorite.  He 
had  quite  a  funeral  ceremony. 

Army  Surgeons — Aid  deficiencies. — I  must  bear  my  most 
emphatic  testimony  to  the  zeal,  manliness,  and  professional 
spirit  and  capacity,  generally  prevailing  among  the  Surgeons, 
many  of  them  young  men,  in  the  Hospitals  and  the  army.  I 
will  not  say  much  about  the  exceptions,  for  they  are  tew ; 
(but  I  have  met  some  of  those  few,  and  very  incompetent 
and  airish  they  were.)  I  never  ceas'd  to  find  the  best  young 
men,  and  the  hardest  and  most  disinterested  workers,  among 


38  MEMORANDA 

these  Surgeons,  in  the  Hospitals.    They  are  full  of  genius, 
too.    I  have  seen  many  hundreds  of  them,  and  this  is  my 


There  are,  however,  serious  deficiencies,  wastes,  sad  want 
of  system,  &c.,  in  the  Commissions,  contributions,  and  in  all 
the  Voluntary,  and  a  great  part  of  the  Governmental,  nurs 
ing,  edibles,  medicines,  stores,  &c.  (I  do  not  say  surgical 
attendance,  because  the  Surgeons  cannot  do  more  than 
human  endurance  permits.)  Whatever  puffing  accounts 
there  may  be  in  the  papers  of  the  North,  this  is  the  actual 
fact.  No  thorough  previous  preparation,  no  system,  no  fore 
sight,  no  genius.  Always  plenty  of  stores,  no  doubt,  but 
always  miles  away  ;  never  where  they  are  needed,  and  never 
the  proper  application.  Of  all  harrowing  experiences,  none 
is  greater  than  that  of  the  days  following  a  heavy  battle. 
Scores,  hundreds  of  the  noblest  young  men  on  earth,  uncom 
plaining,  lie,  helpless,  mangled,  faint,  alone,  and  so  bleed  to 
death,  or  die  from  exhaustion,  either  actually  untouch'd  at 
all,  or  merely  the  laying  of  them  down  and  leaving  them, 
when  there  ought  to  be  means  provided  to  save  them. 

The  Slue  everywhere,  —  This  city,  its  suburbs,  the  Capitol, 
the  front  of  the  White  House,  the  places  of  amusement,  the 
Avenue,  and  all  the  main  streets,  swarm  with  soldiers  this 
winter  more  than  ever  before.    Some  are  out  from  the  Hos 
pitals,  some  from  tha  neighboring  camps,  &c.     One*  source 
or  another,  they  pour  in  plenteously,  and  make,  I  should 
say,  the  mark'd  feature  in   the  human  movement  and  cos 
tume-appearance  of  our  National  city.  Their  blue  pants  and 
overcoats  are  everywhere.    The  clump  of  crutches  is  heard, 
and  up  the  stairs  of  the  Paymasters'  offices  ;  and  there  are 
characteristic  groups  around  the  doors  of  the  same,  often 
waiting  long  and  wearily  in  the  cold  .......  Toward  the  latter 

part  of  the  afternoon  you  see  the  furlough'd  men,  sometimes 
singly,  sometimes  in  small  squads,  making  their  way  to  the 
Baltimore  depot.  At  all  times,  except  early  in  the  morning, 
the  patrol  detachments  are  moving  around,  especially  during 
the  earlier  hours  of  evening,  examining  passes,  and  arrest 
ing  all  without  them.  They  do  not  question  the  one-legged, 
or  men  badly  disabled  or  maim'd,  but  all  others  are  stopt. 
They  also  go  around  through  the  auditoriums  of  the  theatres, 
and  make  officers  and  all  show  their  passes,  or  other  author 
ity,  for  being  there. 

Sunday,  Jan.  29,  1865.  —  Have  been  in  Armory  Square 
this  afternoon.  The  Wards  are  very  comfortable,  with  new 
floors  and  plaster  walls,  and  models  of  neatness.  I  'am  not 
sure  but  this  is  a  model  hospital,  after  all,  in  important  re 
spects.  I  found  several  sad  cases  of  old,  lingering  wounds. 
One  Delaware  soldier,  Wm.  H.  Millis,  from  Bridgeville, 
whom  I  had  been  with  after  the  battles  of  the  Wilderness, 
last  May,  where  he  receiv'd  a  very  bad  wound  in  the  chest, 


DURING  THE  WAR.  39 

with  another  in  the  left  arm,  and  whose  case  was  serious 
(pneumonia  had  set  in)  all  last  June  and  July,  I  now  find 
well  enough  to  do  light  duty.  For  three  weeks  at  the  time 
mention'd,  he  just  hover'd  between  life  and  death. 

Boys  in  tlie  Army. — As  I  walk'd  home  about  sunset,  I  saw 
in  Fourteenth  street  a  very  young  soldier,  thinly  clad,  stand 
ing  near  the  house  I  was  about  to  enter.  I  stopt  a  moment 
hV  front  of  the  door  and  call'd  him  to  me.  I  knew  that  an 
old  Tennessee  Union  regiment,  and  also  an  Indiana  regi 
ment,  were  temporarily  stopping  in  new  barracks,  near  Four 
teenth  street.  This  boy  I  found  belonged  to  the  Tennessee 
regiment.  But  I  could  hardly  believe  he  carried  a  musket. 
He  was  but  15  years  old,  yet  had  been  twelve  months  a 
soldier,  and  had  borne  his  part  in  several  battles,  even  his 
toric  ones I  ask'd  him  if  he  did  not  suffer  from  the  cold 

and  if  he  had  no  overcoat.  No,  he  did  not  suffer  from  cold, 
and  had  no  overcoat,  but  could  draw  one  whenever  he  wish'd. 
His  father  was  dead,  and  his  mother  living  in  some  part  of 
East  Tennessee ;  all  the  men  were  from  that  part  of  the 
country. 

The  next  forenoon  I  saw  the  Tennessee  and  Indiana  regi 
ments  marching  down  the  Avenue.  My  boy  was  with  the 
former,  stepping  along  with  the  rest.  There  were  many 
other  boys  no  older.  I  stood  and  watch'd  them  as  they 
tramp'd  along  with  slow,  strong,  heavy,  regular  steps.  There 
did  not  appear  to  be  a  man  over  30  years  of  age,  and  a  large 
proportion  were  from  15  to  perhaps^  22  or  23.  They  had  all 
the  look  of  veterans,  worn,  stain'd,  impassive,  and  a  certain 
unbent,  lounging  gait,  carrying  in  addition  to  their  regular 
arms  and  knapsacks,  frequently  a  frying-pan,  broom,  &c. 
They  were  all  of  pleasant,  even  handsome  physiognomy  ;  no 
refinement,  nor  blanch'd  with  intellect,  but  as  my  eye  pick'd 
them,  moving  along,  rank  by  rank,  there  did  not  seem  to  be 
a  single  repulsive \  brutal  or  markedly  stupid  face  among 
them. 

Burial  of  a  Lady  Nurse. — Here  is  an  incident  that  has  just 
occurr'd  in  one  of  the  Hospitals.  A  lady  named  Miss  or 
Mrs.  Billings,  who  has  long  been  a  practical  friend  of  soldiers 
and  nurse  in  the  army,  and  had  become  attach'd  to  it  in  a 
way  that  no  one  can  realize  but  him  or  her  who  has  had  ex 
perience,  was  taken  sick,  early  this  winter,  linger'd  some 
time,  and  finally  died  in  the  Hospital.  It  was  her  request 
that  she  should  be  buried  among  the  soldiers,  and  after  the 
military  method.  This  request  was  fully  carried  out.  Her 
coffin  was  carried  to  the  grave  by  soldiers,  with  the  usual 
escort,  buried,  and  a  salute  fired  over  the  grave.  This  was 
at  Annapolis  a  few  days  since. 

Female  Nurses  for  Soldiers. — There  are  many  women  in 
one  position  or  another,  among  the  Hospitals,  mostly  as 
nurses  here  in  Washington,  and  among  the  military  stations  ; 


40  MEMORANDA 

quite  a  number  of  them  young  ladies  acting  as  volunteers. 
They  are  a  great  help  in  certain  ways,  and  deserve  to  be 
mention'd  with  praise  and  respect.  Then  it  remains  to  be 
distinctly  said  that  few  or  no  young  ladies,  under  the  irresisti 
ble  conventions  of  society,  answer  the  practical  requirements 
of  nurses  for  soldiers.  Middle-aged  or  healthy  and  good  con- 
dition'd  elderly  women,  mothers  of  children,  are  always  best. 
Many  of  the  wounded  must  be  handled.  A  hundred  things 
which  cannot  be  gainsay'd,  must  occur  and  must  be  done. 
The  presence  of  a  good  middle-aged  or  elderly  woman,  the 
magnetic  touch  of  hands,  the  expressive  features  of  the 
mother,  the  silent  soothing  of  her  presence,  her  words,  her 
knowledge  and  privileges  arrived  at  only  through  having 
had  children,  are  precious  and  final  qualifications.  (Mrs.  H. 
J.  Wright,  of  Mansion  House  Hospital,  Alexandria,  is  one 
of  those  good  nurses.  I  have  known  her  for  over  two  years 
in  her  labors  of  love.)  It  is  a  natural  faculty  that  is  re 
quired  ;  it  is  not  merely  having  a  genteel  young  woman  at  a 
table  in  a  Ward.  One  ©f  the  finest  nurses  I  met  was  a  red- 
faced  illiterate  old  Irish  woman ;  I  have  seen  her  take  the 
poor  wasted  naked  boys  so  tenderly  up  in  her  arms.  There 
are  plenty  of  excellent  clean  old  black  women  that  would 
make  tip-top  nurses. 

Southern  Escapees,  Feb.  23,  '65. — I  saw  a  large  procession 
of  young  men  from  the  rebel  army,  (deserters  they  are 
call'd,  but  the  usual  meaning  of  the  word  does  not  apply  to 
them,)  passing  along  the  Avenue  to-day.  There  were  nearly 
200  of  them,  come  up  yesterday  by  boat  from  James  River. 
I  stood  and  watch'd  them  as  they  pass'd  along  in  a  slow, 
tired,  worn  sort  of  way.  There  was  a  curiously  large  pro 
portion  of  light-hair 'd,"  blonde,  light  gray-eyed  young  men 
among  them.  Their  costumes  had  a  dirt-stain'd  uniformity  ; 
most  had  been  originally  gray  ;  some  among  them  had  arti 
cles  of  our  uniform,  pants  on  one,  vest  or  coat  on  another. 
I  think  they  were  mostly  Georgia  and  North  Carolina  boys. 
They  excited  little  or  no  attention.  As  I  stood  quite  close 
to  them,  several  good  looking  enough  American  youths, 
(but  0  what  a  tale  of  misery  their  appearance  told,) 
nodded  or  just  spoke  to  me,  without  doubt  divining  pity 
and  fatherliiiess  out  of  my  face,  for  my  heart  was  full  enough 
of  it.  Several  of  the  couples  trudged  along  with  their  arms 
about  each  other,  some  probably  brothers ;  it  seem'd  as  if 
they  were  afraid  they  might  some  how  get  separated.  They 
nearly  all  look'd  what  one  might  call  simple,  yet  intelligent 
enough,  too.  Some  had  pieces  of  old  carpet,  some  blankets, 
and  others  old  bags  around  their  shoulders,  and  some  of  them 
here  and  there  had  fine  faces,  still  it  was  a  procession  of  mis 
ery.  The  two  hundred  had  with  them  about  half  a  dozen 
arm'd  guards. 

Along  this  week  I  saw  some  such  procession,  more  or  less 


DURING  THE  WAR.  41 

in  numbers,  every  day,  as  they  were  brought  up  by  the  boat. 
The  Government  does  what  it  can  for  them,  and  sends  them 
North  and  West. 

Feb.  27,  '65. — Some  three  or  four  hundred  more  escapees 
from  the  Confederate  army  came  up  on  the  boat  to-day.  As 
the  day  has  been  very  pleasant  indeed,  (after  a  long  spell  of 
bad  weather,)  I  have  been  wandering  around  a  good  deal , 
without  any  other  object  than  to  be  out-doors  and  enjoy 
it;  have  met  these  escaped  men  in  all  directions.  Their 
apparel  is  the  same  ragged,  long-worn  motley  as  before  de 
scribed.  I  talk'd  with  a  number  of  the  men.  Some  are 
quite  bright  and  stylish,  for  all  their  poor  clothes — walking 
with  an  air,  wearing  their  old  head-coverings  on  one  side, 
quite  saucily.  (I  find  the  old,  unquestionable  proofs,  as  all 
along,  the  past  four  years,  of  the  unscrupulous  tyranny  exer 
cised  by  the  Secession  government  in  conscripting  the  com 
mon  people  by  absolute  force  everywhere,  and  paying  no 
attention  whatever  to  the  men's  time  being  up — keep- 
ping  them  in  military  service  just  the  same.) One  gigantic 

young  fellow,  a  Georgian,  at  least  six  feet  three  inches  high, 
broad-sized  in  proportion,  attired  in  the  dirtiest,  drab,  well- 
smear'd  rags,  tied  with  strings,  his  trousers  at  the  knees  all 
strips  and  streamers,  was  complacently  standing  eating 
some  bread  and  meat.  He  appear'd  contented  enough. 
Then  a  few  minutes  after  I  saw  him  slowly  walking  along.  It 
was  plain  he  did  not  take  anything  to  heart. 

Feb.  28. — As  T  pass'd  the  military  headquarters  of  the  city, 
not  far  from  the  President's  house,  I  stopt  to  talk  with  some 
of  the  crowd  of  escapees  who  were  lounging  there.  In  ap 
pearance  they  were  the  same  as  previously  mention'd.  Two 
of  them,  one  about  17,  and  the  other  perhaps  25  or  6, 1  talk'd 
with  some  time.  They  were  from  North  Carolina,  born  and 
rais'd  there,  and  had  folks  there.  The  elder  had  been  in  the 
rebel  service  four  years.  He  was  first  conscripted  for  two 
years.  He  was  then  kept  arbitrarily  in  the  ranks.  This  is 
the  case  with  a  large  proportion  of  the  Secession  army. 
There  is  no  shame  in  leaving  such  service — was  nothing 
downcast  in  these  young  men's  manners.  The  younger  had 
been  soldiering  about  a  year.  He  was  conscripted.  There 
were  six  brothers  (all  the  boys  of  the  family)  in  the  army, 
part  of  them  as  conscripts,  part  as  volunteers.  Three  had 
been  kill'd.  One  had  escaped  about  four  months  ago,  and 
now  this  one  had  got  away.  He  was  a  pleasant  and  well- 
talking  lad,  with  the  peculiar  North  Carolina  idiom,  (not  at 
all  disagreeable  to  my  ears.)  He  and  the  elder  one  were  of 
the  same  company,  and  escaped  together— and  wish'd  to  re 
main  together.  They  thought  of  getting  transportation 
away  to  Missouri,  and  working  there ;  but  were  not  sure  it 
was  judicious.  I  advised  them  rather  to  go  to  some  of  the 
directly  northern  States,  and  get  farm  work  for  the  present 
0 


42  MEMORANDA 

The  younger  had  made  six  dollars  on  the  boat,  with  some 
tobacco  he  brought ;  he  had  three  and  a  half  left.  The  elder 

had  nothing.  I  gave  him  a  trifle Soon  after,  I  met  John 

Wormley,  9th  Alabama— is  a  West  Tennessee  rais'd  boy, 
parents  both  dead — had  the  look  of  one  for  a  long  time  on 
short  allowance— said  very  little— chew'd  tobacco  at  a  fear 
ful  rate,  spitting  in  proportion — large  clear  dark-brown  eyes, 
very  fine— didn't  know  what  to  make  of  me— told  me  at  last 
he  wanted  much  to  get  some  clean  underclothes,  and  a  pair 
of  decent  pants.  Didn't  care  about  coat  or  hat  fixings. 
Wanted  a  chance  to  wash  himself  well,  and  put  on  the  un 
derclothes.  I  had  the  very  great  pleasure  of  helping  him  to 
accomplish  all  those  wholesome  designs. 

March  1st. — Plenty  more  butternut  or  clay-color'd  escapees 
every  day.  About  160  came  in  to-day,  a  large  portion  South 
Carolinians.  They  generally  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and 
are  sent  north,  west,  or  extreme  south-west  if  they  wish. 
Several  of  them  told  me  that  the  desertions  in  their 
army,  of  men  going  home,  leave  or  no  leave,  are  far  more 
numerous  than  their  desertions  to  our  side.  I  saw  a  very 
forlorn  looking  squad  of  about  a  hundred,  late  this  afternoon, 
on  their  way  to  the  Baltimore  depot. 

To-night  I  have  been  wandering  awhile  in  the  Capitol, 
which  is  all  lit  up.  The  illuminated  Hotunda  looks  fine.  I 
like  to  stand  aside  and  look  a  long,  long  while,  up  at  the 
dome ;  it  comforts  me  somehow.  The  House  and  Senate 
were  both  in  session  till  very  late.  I  look'd  in  upon  them, 
but  only  a  few  moments ;  they  were  hard  at  work  on  tax 
and  appropriation  bills.  I  wander'd  through  the  long  and 
rich  corridors  and  apartments  under  the  Senate ;  an  old  habit 
of  mine,  former  winters,  and  now  more  satisfaction  than 
ever.  Not  many  persons  down  there,  occasionally  a  flitting 
figure  in  the  distance. 

The  Inauguration,  March  4. — The  President  very  quietly 
rode  down  to  the  Capitol  in  his  own  carriage,  by  himself,  on 
a  sharp  trot,  about  noon,  either  because  he  wish'd  to  be  on 
hand  to  sign  bills,  &c.,  or  to  get  rid  of  marching  in  line  with 
the  absurd  procession,  the  muslin  Temple  of  Liberty,  and 
pasteboard  Monitor.  I  saw  him  on  his  return,  at  three 
o'clock,  after  the  performance  was  over.  He  was  in  his 
plain  two-horse  barouche,  and  look'd  very  much  worn  and 
tired ;  the  lines,  indeed,  of  vast  responsibilites,  intricate 
questions,  and  demands  of  life  and  death,  cut  deeper  than 
ever  upon  his  dark  brown  face  ;  yet  all  the  old  goodness, 
tenderness,  sadness,  and  canny  shrewdness,  underneath  the 
furrows.  (I  never  see  that  man  without  feeling  that  he  is 
one  to  become  personally  attach'd  to,  for  his  combination  of 
purest,  heartiest  tenderness,  and  native  Western  even  rudest 
forms  of  manliness.)  By  his  side  sat  his  little  boy,  of  ten 
years.  There  were  no  soldiers,  only  a  lot  of  civilians  on 


DURING  THE  WAR.  43 

horseback,  with  huge  yellow  scarfs  over  their  shoulders, 
riding  around  the  carriage.  (At  the  Inauguration  four  years 
ago,  he  rode  down  and  back  again,  surrounded  by  a  dense 
mass  of  arm'd  cavalrymen  eight  deep,  with  drawn  sabres  ; 
and  there  were  sharp-shooters  station' d  at  every  corner  on 
the  route.) 

1  ought  to  make  mention  of  the  closing  Levee  of  Saturday 
night  last.  Never  before  was  such  a  compact  jam  in  front 
of  the  White  House— all  the  grounds  fill'd,  and  away  out  to 

the  spacious  sidewalks I  was  there,  as  I  took  a  notion  to 

go — was  in  the  rush  inside  with  the  crowd — surged  along  the 
passage-ways,  the  Blue  and  other  rooms,  and  through  the 
great  East  room,  (upholster'd  like  a  stage  parlor.)  Crowds 
of  country  people,  some  very  funny.  Fine  music  from  the 

Marine  Band,  off  in  a  side  place I  saw  Mr.  Lincoln, 

drest  all  in  black,  with  white  kid  gloves,  and  a  claw-ham 
mer  coat,  receiving,  as  in  duty  bound,  shaking  hands,  look 
ing  very  disconsolate,  and  as  if  he  would  give  anything  to 
be  somewhere  else. 

JFhe  Weather — Does  it  Sympathise  with  t:ese  Times? — 
Whether  the  rains,  the  heat  and  cold,  and  what  underlies 
them  all,  are  affected  with  what  affects  man  in  masses,  and 
follow  his  play  of  passionate  action,  strain'd  stronger  than 
usual,  and  on  a  larger  scale  than  usual — whether  this,  or  no, 
it  is  certain  that  there  is  now,  and  has  been  for  twenty 
months  or  more  on  this  American  Continent  North,  many  a 
remarkable,  many  an  unprecedented  expression  of  the  sub 
tile  world  of  air  above  us  and  around  us.  There,  since  this 
War,  and  the  wide  and  deep  National  agitation,  strange 
analogies,  different  combinations,  a  different  sunlight,  or  ab- 
sence^of  it ;  different  products  even  out  of  the  ground.  After 
every  great  battle,  a  great  storm.  Even  civic  events,  the 
same.  On  Saturday  last,  a  forenoon  like  whirling  demons, 
dark,  with  slanting  rain,  full  of  rage  ;  and  then  the  afternoon, 
so  calm,  so  bathed  with  flooding  splendor  from  heaven's 
most  excellent  sun,  with  atmosphere  of  sweetness ;  so  clear, 
it  show'd  the  stars,  long,  lonor  before  they  were  due.  As  the 
President  came  out  on  the  Capitol  portico,  a  curious  little 
white  cloud,  the  only  one  in  that  part  of  the  sky,  appear 'd 
like  a  hovering  bird,  right  over  him. 

Indeed,  the  heavens,  the  elements,  all  the  meteorological 
influences,  have  run  riot  for  weeks  past.  Such  caprices,  ab- 
ruptest  alternation  of  fiowns  and  beauty,  I  never  knew.  It 
is  a  common  remark  that  (as  last  Summer  was  different  in 
its  spells  of  intense  heat  from  any  preceding  it,)  the  Win 
ter  just  completed  has  been  without  parallel.  It  has  re- 
main'd  so  down  to  the  hour  I  am  writing.  Much  of  the  day 
time  of  the  past  mouth  was  sulky,  with  leaden  heaviness, 
fog,  interstices  of  bitter  cold,  and'some  insane  storms.  But 
there  have  been  samples  of  another  description.  Nor  earth, 


44  MEMORANDA 

nor  sky  ever  knew  spectacles  of  superber  beauty  than  some 
of  the  nights  have  lately  been  here.  The  western  star, 
Venus,  in  the  earlier  hours  of  evening,  has  never  been  so 
large,  so  clear ;  it  seems  as  if  it  told  something,  as  if  it  held 
rapport  indulgent  with  humanity,  with  us  Americans.  Five 
or  six  nights  since,  it  hung  close  by  the  moon,  then  a  little 
past  its  first  quarter.  The  star  was  wonderful,  the  moon 
like  a  young  mother.  The  sky,  dark  blue,  the  transparent 
night,  the  planets,  the  moderate  west  wind,  the  elastic  tem 
perature,  the  unsurpassable  miracle  of  that  great  star,  and 
the  young  and  swelling  moon  swimming  in  the  west,  suffused 
the  soul.  Then  I  heard,  slow  and  clear,  the  deliberate  notes 
of  a  bugle  come  up  out  of  the  silence,  sounding  so  good 
through  the  night's  mystery,  no  hurry,  but  firm  and  faithful, 
floating  along,  rising,  falling  leisurely,  with  here  and  there 
a  long-drawn  note  ;  the  bugle,  well  play'd,  sounding  tattoo, 
in  one  of  the  army  Hospitals  near  here,  where  the  wounded 
(some  of  them  personally  so  dear  to  me,)  are  lying  in  their 
cots,  and  many  a  sick  boy  come  down  to  the  war  from  Illi 
nois,  Michigan,  Wisconsin,  Iowa,  and  the  rest. 

March  6 — Inauguration  Ball. — I  have  this  moment  been  up 
to  look  at  the  gorgeous  array 'd  dance  and  supper-rooms,  for 
the  Inauguration  Ball,  at  the  Patent  Office,  (which  begins 
in  a  few  hours  ;)  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  those  rooms, 
where  the  music  will  sound  and  the  dancers'  feet  presently 
tread — what  a  different  scene  they  presented  to  my  view  a 
while  since,  fill'd  with  a  crowded  mass  of  the  worst  wounded 
of  the  war,  brought  in  from  Second  Bull  Run,  Antietam  and 
Fredericksburgh.  To-night,  beautiful  women,  perfumes, 
the  violins'  sweetness,  the  polka  and  the  waltz;  but  then, 
the  amputation,  the  blue  face,  the  groan,  the  glassy  eye  of 
the  dying,  the  clotted  rag,  the  odor  of  wounds  and  blood, 
and  many  a  mother's  son  amid  strangers,  passing  away  un- 
tended  there,  (for  the  crowd  of  the  badly  hurt  was  great, 
and  much  for  nurse  to  do,  and  much  for  surgeon.) 

Scene  at  the  Capitol— I  must  mention  a  strange  scene  at 
the  Capitol,  the  Hall  of  Representatives,  the  morning  of 
Saturday  last,  (March  4th.)  The  day  just  dawn'd,  but  in 
half-darkness,  everything  dim,  leaden,  and  soaking.  In  that 
dim  light  the  members  nervous  from  long  drawn  duty,  ex 
hausted,  some  asleep,  and  many  half  asleep.  The  gas-light, 
mix'd  with  the  dingy  day-break,  produced  an  unearthly 
effect.  The  poor  little  sleepy,  stumbling  pages,  the  smell 
of  the  Hall,  the  members  with  heads  leaning  on  their  desks 
asleep,  the  sounds  of  the  voices  speaking,  with  unusual  in 
tonations — the  general  moral  atmosphere  also  of  the  close 
of  this  important  session — the  strong  hope  that  the  War  is 
approaching  its  close — the  tantalizing  dread  lest  the  hope 
may  be  a  false  one — the  grandeur  of  the  Hall  itself,  with  its 
effect  of  vast  shadows  up  toward  the  panels  and  spaces  over 
the  galleries— all  made  a  mark'd  combination. 


DURING  THE   WAR.  45 

In  the  midst  of  this,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  thunderbolt, 
burst  one  of  the  most  angry  and  crashing  storms  of  rain  and 
wind  ever  heard.  It  beat  like  a  deluge  on  the  heavy  glass 
roof  of  the  Hall,  and  the  wind  literally  howl'd  and  roar'd. 
For  a  moment,  (and  no  wonder,)  the  nervous  and  sleeping 
Representatives  were  thrown  into  confusion.  The  slumber- 
ers  awaked  with  fear,  some  started  for  the  doors,  some 
look'd  up  with  blanch'd  cheeks  and  lips  to  the  roof,  and  the 
little  pages  began  to  cry  ;  it  was  a  scene  !  But  it  was  over 
almost  as  soon  as  the  drowsied  men  were  actually  awake. 
They  recover'd  themselves ;  the  storm  raged  on,  beating, 
dashing,  and  with  loud  noises  at  times.  But  the  House  went 
ahead  with  its  business  then,  I  think,  as  calmly  and  with  as 
much  deliberation  as  at  any  time  in  its  career.  Perhaps  the 
shock  did  it  good.  (One  is  not  without  impression,  after  all, 
amid  these  members  of  Congress,  of  both  the  Houses,  that 
if  the  flat  and  selfish  routine  of  their  duties  should  ever  be 
broken  in  upon  by  some  great  emergency  involving  real 
danger,  and  calling  for  first-class  personal  qualities,  those 
qualities  would  be  found  generally  forthcoming,  and  from 
men  not  now  credited  with  them.) 

March  27,  1865 — A  Yankee  Antique. — Sergeant  Calvin  P. 
Harlowe,  Co.  C,  Twenty-Ninth  Massachusetts,  Third  Brig 
ade,  Pirst  Division,  Ninth  Corps — a  mark'd  sample  of  hero 
ism  and  death,  (some  may  say  bravado,  but  I  say  heroism,  of 
grandest,  oldest  order) — in  the  late  attack  by  the  rebel 
troops,  and  temporary  capture  by  them,  of  Port  Steadman, 
at  night.  The  Port  was  surprised  at  dead  of  night.  Sud 
denly  awaken 'd  from  their  sleep,  and  rushing  from  their 
teuts.  Harlowe,  with  others,  found  himself  in  the  hands  of 
the  Secesh — they  demanded  his  surrender — he  answer'd, 
Never  while  I  live.  (Of  course  it  was  useless.  The  others 
surrender'd  ;  the  odds  were  too  great.)  Again  he  was  ask'd 
to  yield,  this  time  by  a  rebel  Captain.  Though  surrounded, 
and  quite  calm,  he  again  refused,  call'd  sternly  to  his  com 
rades  to  fight  on,  and  himself  attempted  to  do  so.  The  rebel 
Captain  then  shot  him — but  at  the  same  instant  he  shot  the 
Captain.  Both  fell  together,  mortally  wounded.  Harlowe 
died  almost  instantly.  (The  rebels  were  driven  out  in  a  very 
short  time.)  The  body  was  buried  next  day,  but  soon  taken 

up  and  sent  home,  (Plymouth  Co.,  Mass.) Harlowe  was 

only  22  years  of  age— was  a  tall,  slim,  dark-hair 'd,  blue- 
eyed  young  man— had  come  out  originally  with  the  Twenty- 
Ninth  Mass.,  and  that  is  the  way  he  met  his  death,  after  four 
years  campaign.  He  was  in  the  Seven  Days  Fight  before 
Richmond,  in  Second  Bull  Run,  Antietam,  First  Fredericks- 
burgh,  Yicksburgh,  Jackson,  Wilderness,  and  the  campaigns 
following — was  as  good  a  soldier  as  ever  wore  the  blue,  and 
every  old  officer  of  the  regiment  will  bear  that  testimony. 

Though  so  young,  and  in  a  common  rank,  he  had  a  spirit 

as  resolute  and  brave  as  any  hero  in  the  books,  ancient  or 


46  MEMORANDA 

modern— It  was  too  great  to  say  the  words  "I  surrender"— 

and  so  he  died ("When  1  think  of  such  things,  knowing 

them  well,  all  the  vast  and  complicated  events  of  the  War 
on  which  History  dwells  and  makes  its  volumes,  fall  indeed 
aside,  and  for  the  moment  at  any  rate  I  see  nothing  but 
young  Calvin  Harlowe's  figure  in  the  night  disdaining  to 
surrender.) 

Wounds  and  Diseases. — The  war  is  over,  but  the  hospitals 
are  fuller  than  ever,  from  former  and  current  cases.  A 
large  majority  of  the  wounds  are  in  the  arms  and  legs.  But 
there  is  every  kind  of  wound,  in  every  part  of  the  body.  I 
should  say  of  the  sick,  from  my  observation,  that  the  pre 
vailing  maladies  are  typhoid  fever  and  the  camp  fevers  gene 
rally,  diarrhoea,  catarrhal  affections  and  bronchitis,  rheuma 
tism  and  pneumonia.  These  forms  of  sickness  lead;  all  the 
rest  follow.  There  are  twice  as  many  sick  as  there  are 
wounded.  The  deaths  range  from  7  to  10  per  cent,  of  those 
under  treatment. 

Murder  of  President  Lincoln. — The  day,  April  14,  1865, 
seems  to  have  been  a  pleasant  one  throughout  the  whole 
land — the  moral  atmosphere  pleasant  too— the  long  storm, 
so  dark,  so  fratricidal,  full  of  blood  and  doubt  and  gloom, 
over  and  ended  at  last  by  the  sun-rise  of  such  an  absolute 
National  victory,  and  utter  breaking-down  of  Secessionist)!— 
we  almost  doubted  our  own  senses !  Lee  had  capitulated 
beneath  the  apple-tree  of  Appomattax.  The  other  armies, 

the   flanges   of  the   revolt,  swiftly  follpw'd And  could 

it  really  be,  then?  Out  of  all  the  aifairs  of  this  world  of 
woe  and  passion,  of  failure  and  disorder  and  dismay,  was 
there  really  come  the  confirm'd,  unerring  sign  of  plan,  like 

a  shaft  of  pure  light — of  rightful  rule — of  God  ? So  the 

day,  as  I  say,  was  propitious.  Early  herbage,  early  flowers, 
were  out.  (I  remember  where  I  was  stopping  at  the  time, 
the  season  being  advanced,  there  were  many  lilacs  in  full 
bloom.  By  one  of  those  caprices  that  enter  and  give  tinge 
to  events  without  being  at  all  a  part  of  them,  I  find  myself 
always  reminded  of  the  great  tragedy  of  that  day  by  the 
sight  and  odor  of  these  blossoms.  It  never  fails.) 

But  I  must  not  dwell  on  accessories.  The  deed  hastens. 
The  popular  afternoon  paper  of  Washington,  the  little 
Evening  Star,  had  spatter'd  all  over  its  third  page,  divided 
among  the  advertisements  in  a  sensational  manner  in  a  hun 
dred  different  places,  The  President  and  liis  Lady  will  be  at 

the  Theatre  this  evening (Lincoln  was  fond  of  the  theatre. 

I  have  myself  seen  him  there  several  times.  I  remember 
thinking  how  funny  it  was  ihat  He,  in  some  respects,  the 
leading  actor  in  the  greatest  and  stormiest  drama  known  to 
real  history's  stage,  through  centuries,  should  sit  there  and 
be  so  completely  interested  and  absorb'd  in  those  human 
jack-straws,  moving  about  with  their  silly  little  gestures, 
foreign  spirit,  and  flatulent  text.) 


DURING  THE  WAR.  47 

On  this  occasion  the  theatre  was  crowded,  many  ladies  in 
rich  and  gay  costumes,  officers  in  their  uniforms,  many 
well  known  citizens,  young  folks,  the  usual  clusters  of  gas 
lights,  the  usual  magnetism  of  so  many  people,  cheerful, 
with  perfumes,  music  of  violins  and  flutes — (and  over  all, 
and  saturating  all,  that  vast  vague  wonder,  Victory,  the 
Nation's  Victory,  the  triumph  of  the  Union,  filling  the  air, 
the  thought,  the  sense,  with  exhilaration  more  than  all  per 
fumes.) 

The  President  came  betimes,  and,  with  his  wife,  witness'd 
the  play,  from  the  large  stage-boxes  of  the  second  tier,  two 
thrown  into  one,  and  profusely  draped  with  the  National 
flag.  The  acts  and  scenes  of  the  piece — one  of  those  sin 
gularly  written  compositions  which  have  at  least  the  merit 
of  giving  entire  relief  to  an  audience  engaged  in  mental  ac 
tion  or  business  excitements  and  cares  during  the  day,  as  it 
makes  not  the  slightest  call  on  either  the  moral,  emotional, 
esthetic,  or  spiritual  nature— a  piece,  ('  Our  American  Cousin,') 
in  which,  among  other  characters,  so  call'd,  a  Yankee,  cer 
tainly  such  a  one  as  was  never  seen,  or  the  least  like  it  ever 
seen,  in  North  America,  is  introduced  in  England,  with  a 
varied  fol-de-rol  of  talk,  plot,  scenery,  and  such  phantasma 
goria  as  goes  to  make  up  a  modern  popular  drama— had  pro- 
gress'd  through  perhaps  a  couple  of  its  acts,  when  in  the 
midst  of  this  comedy,  or  tragedy,  or  non-such,  or  whatever 
it  is  to  be  call'd,  and  t©  off-set  it  or  finish  it  out,  as  if  in 
Nature's  and  the  Great  Muse's  mockery  of  those  poor  mimes, 
comes  interpolated  that  Scene,  not  really  or  exactly  to  be 
described  at  all,  (for  on  the  many  hundreds  who  were  there 
it  seems  to  this  hour  to  have  left  little  but  a  passing  blur,  a 
dream,  a  blotch)— and  yet  partially  to  be  described  as  I  now 
proceed  to  give  it There  is  a  scene  in  the  play  represent 
ing  a  modern  parlor,  in  which  two  unprecedented  English 
ladies  are  inform'd  by  the  unprecedented  and  impossible 
Yankee  that  he  is  not  a  man  of  fortune,  and  therefore  unde 
sirable  for  marriage-catching  purposes ;  after  which,  the  com 
ments  being  finish'd,  the  dramatic  trio  make  exit,  leaving 
the  stage  clear  for  a  moment.  There  was  a  pause,  a  hush 
as  it  were.  At  this  period  came  the  murder  of  Abraham 
Lincoln.  Great  as  that  was,  with  all  its  manifold  train, 
circling  round  it,  and  stretching  into  the  future  for  many  a 
century,  in  the  politics,  history,  art,  &c.,  of  the  New  World, 
in  point  of  fact  the  main  thing,  the  actual  murder,  transpired 
with  the  quiet  and  simplicity  of  any  commonest  occurrence — 
the  bursting  of  a  bud  or  pod  in  the  growth  of  vegetation,  for 
instance.  Through  the  general  hum  following  the  stage 
pause,  with  the  change  of  positions,  &c.,  came  the  muffled 
sound  of  a  pistol  shot,  which  not  one  hundredth  part  of  the 
audience  heard  at  the  time — and  yet  a  moment's  hush — 
somehow,  surely  a  vague  startled  thrill— and  then,  through 


48  MEMORANDA 

the  ornamented,  draperied,  starr'd  and  striped  space-way  of 
the  President's  box,  a  sudden  figure,  a  man  raises  himself 
with  hands  and  feet,  stands  a  moment  on  the  railing,  leaps 
below  to  the  stage,  (a  distance  of  perhaps  fourteen  or  fifteen 
feet,)  falls  out  of  position,  catching  his  boot-heel  in  the  co 
pious  drapery, (the  American  fla^,)  falls  on  one  knee,  quickly 
recovers  himself,  rises  as  if  nothing  had  happen 'd,  (he  really 
sprains  his  ankle,  but  unfelt  then,) — and  so  the  figure,  Booth, 
the  murderer,  dress'd  in  plain  black  broadcloth,  bare-headed, 
with  a  full  head  of  glossy,  raven  hair,  and  his  eyes  like  some 
mad  animal's  flashing  with  light  and  resolution,  yet  with  a 
certain  strange  calmness,  holds  aloft  in  one  hand  a  large 
knife — walks  along  not  much  back  from  the  footlights — 
turns  fully  toward  the  audience  his  face  of  statuesque  beauty, 
lit  by  those  basilisk  eyes,  flashing  with  desperation,  perhaps 
insanity — launches  out  in  a  firm  and  steady  voice  the  words, 
Sic  semper  tyrannis — and  then  walks  with  neither  slow  nor 
very  rapid  pace  diagonally  across  to  the  back  of  the  stage, 

and  disappears (Had  not  all  this  terrible  scene— making 

the  mimic  ones  preposterous — had  it  not  all  been  rehears'd, 
in  blank,  by  Booth,  beforehand  ?) 

A  moment's  hush,  incredulous — a  scream — the  cry  of  Mur 
der — Mrs.  Lincoln  leaning  out  of  the  box,  with  ashy  cheeks 
and  lips,  with  involuntary  cry,  pointing  to  the  retreating 

figure,  He  has  kilVd  the  President And  still  a  moment's 

strange,  incredulous  suspense — and  then  the  deluge  ! — then 
that  mixture  of  horror,  noises,  uncertainty — (the  sound, 
somewhere  back,  of  a  horse's  hoofs  clattering  with  speed) — 
the  people  burst  through  chairs  and  railings,  and  break  them 
Up — that  noise  adds  to  the  queerness  of  the  scene — there  is 
inextricable  confusion  and  terror — women  faint — quite  feeble 
persons  fall,  and  are  trampled  on — many  cries  of  agony  are 
heard — the  broad  stage  suddenly  fills  to  suffocation  with  a 
dense  and  motley  crowd,  like  some  horrible  carnival — the 
audience  rush  generally  upon  it — at  least  the  strong  men 
do — the  actors  and  actresses  are  all  there  in  their  play-cos 
tumes  and  painted  faces,  with  mortal  fright  showing  through 
the  rouge,  some  trembling — some  in  tears—  the  screams  aud 
calls,  confused  talk —redoubled,  trebled — two  or  three  man 
age  to  pass  up  water  from  the  stage  to  the  President's  box — 
others  try  to  clamber  up— £c.,  &c.,  &c. 

In  the"  midst  of  all  this,  the  soldiers  of  the  President's 
Guard,  with  others,  suddenly  drawn  to  the  scene,  burst  in — 
(some  two  hundred  altogether) — they  storm  the  house, 
through  all  the  tiers,  especially  the  upper  ones,  inflamed 
with  fury,  literally  charging  the  audience  with  fix'd  bayonets, 
muskets  and  pistols,  shouting  Clear  out!  clear  out  I  you  sons 

of Such  the  wild  scene,  or  a  suggestion  of  it  rather, 

inside  the  play-house  that  night. 

Outside,  too,  in  the  atmosphere  of  shock  and  craze,  crowds 


DURING  THE  WAR.  49 

of  people,  filPd  with  frenzy,  ready  to  seize  any  outlet  for  it, 
come  near  committing  murder  several  times  on  innocent 
individuals.  One  such  case  was  especially  exciting.  The 
infuriated  crowd,  through  some  chance,  got  started  against 
one  man,  either  for  words  he  utter'd,  or  perhaps  without 
any  cause  at  all.  and  were  proceeding  at  once  to  actually 
hang  him  on  a  neighboring  lamp  post,  when  he  was  rescued 
by  a  few  heroic  policemen,  who  placed  him  in  their  midst 
and  fought  their  way  slowly  and  amid  great  peril  toward  the 

Station  House It  was  a  fitting  episode  of  the  whole 

affair.  The  crowd  rushing  and  eddying  to  and  fro — the 
night,  the  yells,  the  pale  faces,  many  frighten'd  people  try 
ing  in  vain  to  extricate  themselves — the  attack'd  man,  not 
yet  freed  from  the  jaws  of  death,  looking  like  a  corpse — the 
silent  resolute  half-dozen  policemen,  with  no  weapons  but 
their  little  clubs,  yet  stern  'and  steady  through  all  those  ed 
dying  swarms — made  indeed  a  fitting  side-scene  to  the 

grand  tragedy  of  the  murder They  gain'd  the  Station 

House  with  the  protected  man,  whom  they  placed  in  security 
for  the  night,  and  discharged  him  in  the  morning. 

And  in  the  midst  of  that  night-pandemonium  of  senseless 
hate,  infuriated  soldiers,  the  audience  and  the  crowd — the 
stage,  and  all  its  actors  and  actresses,  its  paint-pots,  span 
gles,  and  gas-lights — the  life-blood  from  those  veins,  the  best 
and  sweetest  of  the  land,  drips  slowly  down,  and  death's 

ooze  already  begins  its  little  bubbles  on  the  lips Such, 

hurriedly  sketch'd,  were  the  accompaniments  of  the  death  of 
President  Lincoln.  So  suddenly  and  in  murder  and  horror  un- 
surpass'dhe  was  taken  from  us.  But  his  death  was  painless. 

[He  leaves  for  America's  History  and  Biography,  so  far, 
not  only  its  most  dramatic  reminiscence— he  leaves,  in  my 
opinion,  the  greatest,  best,  most  characteristic,  artistic, 
Personality.  Not  but  that  he  had  faults,  and  show'd  them 
in  the  Presidency ;  but  honesty,  goodness,  shrewdness,  con 
science,  and  (a  new  virtue,  unknown  to  other  lands,  and 
hardly  yet  really  known  here,  but  the  foundation  and  tie  of 
all,  as  the  future  will  grandly  develop,)  Unionism,  in  its 
truest  and  amplest  sense,  form'd  the  hard-pan  of  his  charac 
ter.  These  he  seal'd  with  his  life.  The  tragic  splendor  of 
his  death,  purging,  illuminating  all,  throws  round  his  form, 
his  head,  an  aureole  that  will  remain  and  will  grow  brighter 
through  time,  while  History  lives,  and  love  of  Country  lasts. 
By  many  has  this  Union  been  conserv'd  and  help'd  ;  but  if 
one  name,  one  man,  must  be  pick'd  out,  he,  most  of  all,  is 
the  Conservator  of  it,  to  the  future.  He  was  assassinated— 
but  the  Union  is  not  assassinated — gaira!  One  falls,  and 
another  falls.  The  soldier  drops,  sinks  like  a  wave— but  the 
ranks  of  the  ocean  eternally  press  on.  Death  does  its  work, 
obliterates  a  hundred,  a  thousand — President,  general,  cap 
tain,  private — but  the  Nation  is  immortal.] 


50  MEMORANDA 

Released  Union  Prisoners  from  South. — The  releas'd  pris 
oners  of  War  are  now  coming  up  from  the  Southern  pris 
ons.  I  have  seen  a  number  of  them.  The  sight  is  worse 
than  any  sight  of  battle-fields  or  any  collections  of  wounded, 
even  the  bloodiest.  There  was,  (as  a  sample,)  one  large 
boat  load,  of  several  hundreds,  brought  about  the  25th,  to 
Annapolis  ;  and  out  of  the  whole  number  only  three  indi 
viduals  were  able  to  walk  from  the  boat.  The  rest  were 
carried  ashore  and  laid  down  in  one  place  or  another.  Can 
those  be  men — those  little  livid-brown,  ash-streak'd,  mon 
key-looking  dwarfs  ? — are  they  really  not  mummied,  dwin 
dled  corpses  ?  They  lay  there,  most  of  them,  quite  still,  but 
with  a  horrible  look  in  their  eyes  and  skinny  lips,  often  with 
not  enough  flesh  on  the  lips  to  cover  their  teeth.  Probably 
no  more  appaling  sight  was  ever  seen  on  this  earth.  (There 
are  deeds,  crimes,  that  may  be  forgiven;  but  this  is  not 
among  them.  It  steeps  its  perpetrators  in  blackest,  escape- 
less,  endless  damnation.  Over  50,000  have  been  compell'd 
to  die  the  death  of  starvation — reader,  did  you  ever  try  to 
realize  what  starvation  actually  is  ?— in  those  prisons— and  in 
a  land  of  plenty !) 

An  indescribable  meanness,  tyranny,  aggravating  course 
of  insults,  almost  incredible — was  evidently  the  rule  of 
treatment  through  all  the  Southern  military  prisons.  The 
dead  there  are  not  to  be  pitied  as  much  as  some  of  the  living 
that  come  from  there — if  they  can  be  call'd  living — many  of 
them  are  mentally  imbecile,  and  will  never  recuperate. 

Death  of  a  Pennsylvania  Soldier— Frank  H.  Irwin,  Co.  E, 
93rc?  Pennsylvania — Died  May  1 ,  '65 — My  letter  to  his  mother. — 
Dear  Madam  :  No  doubt  you  and  Frank's  friends  have  heard 
the  sad  fact  of  his  death  in  Hospital  here,  through  his 
uncle,  or  the  lady  from  Baltimore,  who  took  his  things.  (I 
have  not  seen  them,  only  heard  of  them  visiting  Frank.)  I 
will  write  you  a  few  lines — as  a  casual  friend  that  sat  by  his 
death  bed. 

Your  son,  Corporal  Frank  H.  Irwin,  was  wounded  near 
Fort  Fisher,  Virginia,  March  25th,  1865 — the  wound  was  in 
the  left  knee,  pretty  bad.  He  was  sent  up  to  WasnmSton' 
was  receiv'd  in  "Ward  C,  Armory  Square  Hospital,  March 
28th— the  wound  became  worse,  and  on  the  4th  of  April  the 
leg  was  amputated  a  little  above  the  knee — the  operation 
was  perform 'd  by  Dr.  Bliss,  one  of  the  best  surgeons  in  the 
army — he  did  the  whole  operation  himself — there  was  a  good 
deal  of  bad  matter  gather'd— the  bullet  was  found  in  the 
knee.  For  a  couple  of  weeks  afterwards  he  was  doing  pret 
ty  well.  I  visited  and  sat  by  him  frequently,  as  he  was  fond 
of  having  me.  The  last  ten  or  twelve  days  of  April  I  saw 
that  his  case  was  critical.  He  previously  had  some  fever, 
with  cold  spells.  The  last  week  in  April  he  was  much  of 
the  time  flighty— but  always  mild  and  gentle.  He  died  first 


DURING  THE  WAR.  51 

of  May.  The  actual  cause  of  death  was  Pyaemia,  (the  ab 
sorption  of  the  matter  in  the  system  instead  of  its  discharge.) 

Frank,  as  far  as  I  saw,  had  everything  requisite  in  surgi 
cal  treatment,  nursing,  &c.  He  had  watches  much  of  the 
time.  He  was  so  good  and  well-behaved,  and  affectionate, 
I  myself  liked  him  very  much.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  com 
ing  in  afternoons  and  sitting  by  him,  and  soothing  him,  and 
he  liked  to  have  me— liked  to  put  his  arm  out  and  lay  his 
hand  on  my  knee— would  keep  it  so  a  long  while.  Toward 
the  last  he  was  more  restless  and  flighty  at  night  —often  fan 
cied  himself  with  his  regiment— by  his  talk  sometimes 
seem'd  as  if  his  feelings  were  hurt  by  being  blamed  by  his 
officers  for  something  he  was  entirely  innocent  of — said,  "I 
never  in  my  life  was  thought  capable  of  such  a  thing,  and 
never  was."  At  other  times  he  would  fancy  himself  talk 
ing  as  it  seem'd  to  children  or  such  like,  his  relatives  I  sup 
pose,  and  giving  them  good  advice ;  would  talk  to  them  a 
long  while.  All  the  time  he  was  out  of  his  head  not  one 
single  bad  word  or  thought  or  idea  escaped  him.  It  was  re- 
mark'd  that  many  a  man's  conversation  in  his  senses  was 
not  half  as  good  as  Frank's  delirium. 

He  was  perfectly  willing  to  die — he  had  become  very  weak 
and  had  suffer'd  a  good  deal,  and  was  perfectly  resign'd,  poor 
boy.  I  do  not  know  his  past  life,  but  I  feel  as  if  it  must 
have  been  good.  At  any  rate  what  I  saw  of  him  here,  un 
der  the  most  trying  circumstances,  with  a  painful  wound, 
and  among  strangers,  I  can  say  that  he  behaved  so  brave, 
so  composed,  and  so  sweet  and  affectionate,  it  could  not  be 
surpass'd.  And  now  like  many  other  noble  and  good  men, 
after  serving  his  country  as  a  soldier,  he  has  yielded  up  his 
young  life  at  the  very  outset  in  her  service.  Such  things  are 
gloomy — yet  there  is  a  text,  "God  doeth  all  things  well," — 
the  meaning  of  which,  after  due  time,  appears  to  the  soul. 

I  thought  perhaps  a  few  words,  though  from  a  stranger, 
about  your  son,  from  one  who  was  with  him  at  the  last, 
might  be  worth  while,  for  I  loyed  the  young  man,  though  I 
but  saw  him  immediately  to  lose  him.  I  am  merely  a  friend 
visiting  the  Hospitals  occasionally  to  cheer  the  wounded  and 
sick.  W.  W. 

May  7—  (Sunday.) — To-day  as  1  was  walking  a  mile  rrtwo 
south  of  Alexandria,  I  fell  in  with  several  large  squads  of 
the  returning  Western  Army,  (Sherman's  men  as  they  call'd 
themselves)  about  a  thousand  in  all,  the  largest  portion  of 
them  half  sick,  some  convalescents,  &c.  These  fragmentary 
excerpts,  with  the  unmistakable  western  physiognomy  and 
idioms,  crawling  along  slowly — after  a  great  campaign, 
blown  this  way,  as  it  were,  out  of  their  latitude— I  mark'd 
with  curiosity,  and  talk'd  with  off  and  on  for  over  an  hour. 
Here  and  there  was  one  very  sick  ;  but  all  were  able  to  walk, 
except  some  of  the  last,  who  had  given  out,  and  were  seated 


52  MEMORANDA 

on  the  ground,  faint  and  despondent.  These  I  tried  to  cheer, 
toid  them  the  camp  they  were  to  reach,  (a  sort  of  half-hos 
pital,)  was  only  a  little  way  further  over  the  hill,  and  so  got 
them  up  and  started  on,  accompanying  some  of  the  worst  a 
little  way,  and  helping  them,  or  putting  them  under  the  sup 
port  of  stronger  comrades. 

May  21. — Saw  General  Sheridan  and  his  Cavalry  to-day. 
It  was  a  strong,  attractive,  serious  sight.  We  have  been 
having  rainy  weather.  The  men  were  mostly  young,  (a  few 
middle-aged,)  superb-looking  fellows,  brown,  spare,  keen, 
with  well-worn  clothing,  many  with  pieces  of  water-proof 
cloth  around  their  shoulders  and  hanging  down.  They 
dash'd  along  pretty  fast,  in  wide  close  ranks,  all  spatter'd 
with  mud ;  no  holiday  soldiers.  Quite  all  Americans  (The 
Americans  are  the  handsomest  race  that  ever  trod  the  earth.) 
They  came  clattering  along,  brigade  after  brigade.  I  could 
have  watch'd  for  a  week.  Sheridan  stood  on 'a  balcony,  un 
der  a  big  tree,  coolly  smoking  a  cigar.  His  looks  and  man 
ner  impress'd  me  favorably. 

May  22. — Have  been  taking  a  walk  along  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  and  Seventh  street  north.  The  city  is  full  of  sol 
diers,  running  around  loose.  Officers  everywhere,  of  all 
grades.  All  have  the  weather-beaten  look  of  practical  ser 
vice.  It  is  a  sight  I  never  tire  of.  All  the  Armies  are  now 
here  (or  portions  of  them,)  for  to-morrow's  Review.  You 
see  them  swarming  like  bees  everywhere. 

The  Grand  Review. — For  two  days  now  the  broad  spaces  of 
Pennsylvania  Avenue  along  to  Treasury  Hill,  and  so  by  de 
tour  around  to  the  President's  House,  (and  so  up  to  George 
town,  and  across  the  Aqueduct  bridge,)  have  been  alive  with 
a  magnificent  sight,  the  returning  Armies.  In  their  wide 
ranks  stretching  clear  across  the  Avenue  I  watch  them 
march  or  ride  along,  at  a  brisk  pace,  through  two  whole 

days— Infantry,  Cavalry,  Artillery— some  200,000  men 

Some  days  afterwards  one  or  two  other  Corps and  then, 

still  afterwards,  a  good  part  of  Sherman's  immense  Army, 
brought  up  from  Charleston,  Savannah,  &c. 

Western  Soldiers — May  26-7. — The  streets,  the  public  build 
ings  and  grounds  of  Washington  still  swarm  with  soldiers 
from  Illinois,  Indiana,  Ohio,  Missouri,  Iowa,  and  all  the 
Western  States.  I  am  continually  meeting  and  talking 
with  them.  They  often  speak  to  me  first,  and  always  show 
great  sociability,  and  glad  to  have  a  good  interchange  of 

chat These   Western  soldiers   are  more  slow  in  their 

movements,  and  in  their  intellectual  quality  also ;  have  no 
extreme  alertness.  They  are  larger  in  size,  have  a  more 
serious  physiognomy,  are  continually  looking  at  you  as  they 
pass  in  the  street.  They  are  largely  animal,  and  handsomely 
so.  (During  the  War  I  have  been  at  times  with  the  Four 
teenth,  Fifteenth,  Seventeenth,  and  Twentieth  Corps.)  I 


DURING  THE  WAR.  53 

always  feel  drawn  toward  the  men,  and  like  their  personal 
contact  when  we  are  crowded  close  together,  as  frequently 
these  days  in  the  street-cars.  They  all  think  the  world  of 
General  Sherman;  call  him  "Old  Bill,"  or  sometimes 
"Uncle  Billy." 

May  28. — As  I  sat  hy  the  bedside  of  a  sick  Michigan  sol 
dier  in  a  Hospital  to-day,  a  convalescent  from  the  adjoining 
bed  rose  and  came  to  me,  and  presently  we  began  talking. 
He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  belonged  to  the  2d  Virginia 
regiment,  but  lived  in  Eacine,  Ohio,  and  had  a  family  there. 
He  spoke  of  President  Lincoln,  and  said :  "  The  war  is  over, 
and  many  are  lost.  And  now  we  have  lost  the  best,  the 
fairest,  the  truest  man  in  America.  Take  him  altogether 
he  was  the  best  man  this  country  ever  produced.  It  was 
quite  a  while  I  thought  very  different ;  but  some  time  before 

the  murder,  that's  the  way  I  have  seen  it." There  was 

deep  earnestness  in  the  soldier.  (I  found  upon  further  talk 
he  had  known  Mr.  Lincoln  personally,  and  quite  closely, 
years  before.)  He  was  a  veteran  ;  was  n@w  in  the  fifth  year 
of  his  service ;  was  a  cavalry  man,  and  had  been  in  a  good 
deal  of  hard  fighting. 

Two  Brothers,  one  South,  one  North— May  28-9.— I  staid  to 
night  a  long  time  by  the  bed-side  of  a  new  patient,  a  young 
Baltimorean,  aged  about  19  years,  W.  S.  P.,  (2nd  Md.  South 
ern,)  very  feeble,  right  leg  amputated,  can't  sleep  hardly  at 
all — has  taken  a  great  deal  of  morphine,  which,  as  usual,  is 
costing  more  than  it  comes  to.  Evidently  very  intelligent 
and  well  bred — very  affectionate — held  on  to  my  hand,  and 
put  it  by  his  face,  not  willing  to  let  me  leave.  As  1  was 
lingering,  soothing  him  in  his  pain,  he  says  to  me  suddenly, 
"I  hardly  think  you  know  who  I  am — I  don't  wish  to  im 
pose  upon  you — I  am  a  rebel  soldier."  I  said  I  did  not 

know  that,  but  it  made  no  difference Visiting  him  daily 

for  about  two  weeks  after  that,  while  he  lived,  (death  had 
mark'd  him,  and  he  was  quite  alone,)  I  loved  him  much, 
always  kiss'd  him,  and  he  did  me. 

In  an  adjoining  Ward  I  found  his  brother,  an  officer  of 
rank,  a  Union  soldier,  a  brave  and  religious  man,  (Col.  Clif 
ton  K.  Prentiss,  Sixth  Md.  Infantry,  Sixth  Corps,  wounded 
in  one  of  the  engagements  at  Petersburgh,  April  2 — lin- 
ger'd,  suffer'd  much,  died  in  Brooklyn,  Aug.  20,  '65.)  It  was 
in  the  same  battle  both  were  hit.  One  was  a  strong  Union 
ist,  the  other  Secesh  ;  both  fought  on  their  respective  sides, 
both  badly  wounded,  and  both  brought  together  here  after 
absence  of  four  years.  Each  died  for  his  cause. 

May  31.— James  H.  Williams,  age  21,  3d  Va.  Cavalry.— 
About  as  mark'd  a  case  of  a  strong  man  brought  low  by  a 
complication  of  diseases,  (laryngytis,  fever,  debility  and 
diarrluea,)  as  I  have  ever  seen— has  superb  physique,  remains 
swarthy  yet,  and  flush'd  and  red  with  fever — is  altogether 


54  MEMORANDA 

flighty — flesh  of  his  great  breast  and  arms  tremulous,  and 
pulse  pounding  away  with  treble  quickness — lies  a  good  deal 
of  the  time  in  a  partial  sleep,  but  with  low  muttering  and 
groans — a  sleep  in  which  there  is  no  rest.  Powerful  as  he 
is,  and  so  young,  he  will  not  be  able  to  stand  many  more 
days  of  the  strain  and  sapping  heat  of  yesterday  and  to-day. 
His  throat  is  in  a  bad  way,  tongue  and  lips  parch'd.  When 
I  ask  him  how  he  feels,  he  is  able  just  to  articulate,  "  I  feel 
pretty  bad  yet,  old  man,"  and  looks  at  me  with  his  great 
bright  eyes.  Father,  John  Williams,  Millensport,  Ohio. 

June  9-10. — I  have  been  sitting  late  te-night  by  the  bed 
side  of  a  wounded  Captain,  a  friend  of  mine,  lying  with  a 
painful  fracture  of  left  leg  in  one  of  the  Hospitals,  in  a  large 
Ward  partially  vacant.  The  lights  were  put  out,  all  but  a 
little  candle,  far  from  where  I  sat.  The  full  moon  shone  in 
through  the  windows,  making  long,  slanting  silvery  patches 
on  the  floor.  All  was  still,  my  friend  too  was  silent,  but 
could  not  sleep ;  so  I  sat  there  by  him,  slowly  wafting  the 
fan,  and  occupied  with  the  musings  that  arose  out  of  the 
scene,  the  long  shadowy  Ward,  the  beautiful  ghostly  moon 
light  on  the  floor,  the  white  beds,  here  and  there  an  occu 
pant  with  huddled  form,  the  bed-clothes  thrown  off. 

The  Hospitals  have  a  number  of  cases  of  sun-stroke  and 
exhaustion  by  heat,  from  the  late  Reviews.  There  are  many 
such  from  the  Sixth  Corps,  from  the  hot  parade  of  day  be 
fore  yesterday.  (Some  of  these  shows  cost  the  lives  of  scores 
of  men.) 

Sunday,  Sep.  10. — Visited  Douglas  and  Stanton  Hospitals. 
They  are  quite  full.  Many  of  the  cases  are  bad  ones,  linger 
ing  wounds,  and  old  cases  of  sickness.  There  is  a  more  than 
usual  look  of  despair  on  the  countenances  of  many  of  the 
men ;  hope  has  left  them I  went  through  the  Wards  talk 
ing  as  usual.  There  are  several  here  from  the  Confederate 
army,  whom  I  had  seen  in  other  Hospitals,  and  they  recog 
nized  me.  Two  were  in  a  dying  condition. 

Galhoun's  Real  Monument. — In  one  of  the  Hospital  tents 
for  special  cases,  as  I  sat  to-day  tending  a  new  amputation, 
I  heard  a  couple  of  neighboring  soldiers  talking  to  each 
other  from  their  cots.  One  down  with  fever,  but  improv 
ing,  had  come  up  belated  from  Charleston  not  long  before. 
The  other  was  what  we  now  call  an  "old  veteran"  (i.  e.,  he 
was  a  Connecticut  yeuth,  probably  of  less  than  the  age  of 
twenty-five  years,  the  four  last  of  which  he  had  spent  in  ac 
tive  service  in  the  War  in  all  parts  of  the  country.)  The 
two  were  chatting  of  one  thing  and  another.  The  fever 
soldier  spoke  of  John  C.  Calhoun's  monument,  which  he 
had  seen,  and  was  describing  it.  The  veteran  said  :  '•/  have 
seen  Calhoun's  monument.  That  you  saw  is  not  the  real 
monument.  But  I  have  seen  it.  It  is  the  desolated,  ruined 
South;  nearly  the  whole  generation  of  young  men  between 
seventeen  and  fifty  destroyed  or  maim'd  ;  all  the  old  families 


DURING  THE  WAR.  55 

used  up — the  rich  impoverish'd,  the  plantations  cover'd  with 
weeds,  the  slaves  unloos'd  and  become  the  masters,  and  the 
name  of  Southerner  blacken'd  with  every  shame— all  that 
is  Calhoun's  real  monument." 

October  3. — There  are  only  two  Army  Hospitals  now  re 
maining.  I  went  to  the  largest  of  these  (Douglas)  and  spent 
the  afternoon  and  evening.  There  are  many  sad  cases,  some 
old  wounds,  some  of  incurable  sickness,  and  some  of  the 
wounded  from  the  March  and  April  battles  before  Richmond. 

(Few  realize  how  sharp  and  bloody  those  closing  battles 

were.  Our  men  exposed  themselves  more  than  usual ;  press'd 
ahead,  without  urging.  Then  the  Southerners  fought  with 
extra  desperation.  Both  sides  knew  that  with  the  successful 
chasing  of  the  rebel  cabal  from  Richmond,  and  the  occupation 
of  that  city  by  the  National  troops,  the  game  was  up.  The 

dead  and  wounded  were  unusually  many Of  the  wounded, 

both  our  own  and  the  rebel,  the  last  lingering  driblets  have 
been  brought  to  Hospital  here.  I  find  many  rebel  wounded 
here,  and  have  been  extra  busy  to-day  'tending  to  the  worst 
cases  of  them  with  the  rest.) 

Oct.,  Nov.  and  Dec.,  '65— (Sundays.}— livery  Sunday  of 
these  months  visited  Harewood  Hospital  out  in  the  woods, 
pleasant  and  recluse,  some  two  and  a  half  or  three  miles 
north  of  the  Capitol.  The  situation  is  healthy,  with  broken 
ground,  grassy  slopes  and  patches  of  oak  woods,  the  trees 
large  and  fine.  It  was  one  of  the  most  extensive  of  the 
Hospitals — but  now  reduced  to  four  or  five  partially  occupied 
Wards,  the  numerous  others  being  entirely  vacant.  The 
patients  are  the  leavings  of  the  other  Hospitals ;  many  of 
them  very  sad  cases  indeed.  In  November,  this  became  the 
last  Military  Hospital  kept  up  by  the  Government,  all  the 
others  being  closed.  Cases  of  the  worst  and  most  incurable 
wounds,  and  obstinate  illness,  and  of  poor  fellows  who  have 
no  homes  to  go  to,  are  found  here. 

Dec.  10 — (Sunday.) — Again  spending  a  good  part  of  the  day 
at  Harewood.  As  I  write  this,  it  is  about  an  hour  before 
sundown.  I  have  walk'd  out  for  a  few  minutes  to  the  edge 
of  the  woods  to  soothe  myself  with  the  hour  and  scene.  It 
is  a  glorious,  warm,  golden-sunny,  still  afternoon.  The  only 
noise  here  is  from  a  crowd  of  cawing  crows,  on  some  trees 
three  hundred  yards  distant.  Clusters  of  gnats  swimming 
and  dancing  in  the  air  in  all  directions.  The  oak  leaves  are 
thick  under  the  bare  trees,  and  give  a  strong  and  delicious 

perfume Inside  the  Wards  every  thing  is  gloomy.  Death 

is  there.  As  I  enter'd,  I  was  confronted  'by  it,  the  first 
thing.  A  corpse  of  a  poor  soldier,  just  dead,  of  typhoid 
fever.  The  attendants  had  just  straighten'd  the  limbs,  put 
coppers  on  the  eyes,  and  were  laying  it  out. 

Three  Years  Summ'd  Up. — During  my  past  three  years  in 
Hospital,  camp  or  field,  I  made  over  600  visits  or  tours,  and 


56  MEMORANDA 

went,  as  I  estimate,  among  from  80.000  to  100,000  of  the 
wounded  and  sick,  as  sustainer  of  spirit  and  body  in  some 
degree,  in  time  of  need.  These  visits  varied  from  an  hour 
or  two,  to  all  day  or  night ;  for  with  dear  or  critical  cases  I 
always  watch'd  all  night.  Sometimes  I  took  up  my  quar 
ters  in  the  Hospital,  and  slept  or  watch'd  there  several 
nights  in  succession.  Those  three  years  I  consider  the 
greatest  privilege  and  satisfaction,  (with  all  their  feverish 
excitements  and  physical  deprivations  and  lamentable 
sights,)  and,  of  course,  the  most  profound  lesson  and  remi 
niscence,  of  my  life.  I  can  say  that  in  my  ministerings  I 
comprehended  all,  whoever  came  in  my  way,  Northern  or 
Southern,  and  slighted  none.  It  afforded  me,  too,  the  per 
usal  of  those  subtlest,  rarest,  divinest  volumes  of  Humanity, 
laid  bare  in  its  inmost  recesses,  and  of  actual  life  and  death, 
better  than  the  finest,  most  labor'd  narratives,  histories, 
poems  in  the  libraries.  It  arous'd  and  brought  out  and  de 
cided  undream'd-of  depths  of  emotion.  It  has  given  me  my 
plainest  and  most  fervent  views  of  the  true  ensemble  and  ex 
tent  of  The  States.  While  I  was  with  wounded  and  sick  in 
thousands  of  cases  from  the  New  England  States,  and  from 
New  York,  New'Jersey,  and  Pennsylvania,  and  from  Michi 
gan,  Wisconsin,  Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  and  all  the  West 
ern  States,  I  was  with  more  or  less  from  all  the  States,  North 
and  South,  without  exception.  I  was  with  many  from  the 
Border  States,  especially  from  Maryland  and  Virginia,  and 
found,  during  those  lurid  years  1862-65,  far  more  Union 
Southerners,  especially  Tennesseans,  than  is  supposed.  I 
was  with  many  rebel  officers  and  men  among  our  wounded, 
and  gave  them  always  what  I  had,  and  tried  to  cheer  them 
the  same  as  any.  I  was  among  the  army  teamsters  consid 
erably,  and,  indeed,  always  found  myself  drawn  to  them. 
Among  the  black  soldiers,  wounded  or  sick,  and  in  the  con 
traband  camps,  I  also  took  my  way  whenever  in  their 
neighborhood;  and  did  what  I  could  for  them. 

The  Million  Dead,  too,  summed  up — The  Unknown. — The 
Dead  in  this  War — there  they  lie,  strewing  the  fields  and 
woods  and  valleys  and  battle-fields  of  the  South — Virginia, 
the  Peninsula — Malvern  Hill  and  Fair  Oaks — the  banks  of 
the  Chickahominy — the  terraces  of  Fredericksburgh — An- 
tietam  bridge — the  grisly  ravines  of  Manassas — the  bloody 
promenade  of  the  Wilderness — the  varieties  of  the  strayed 
dead,  (the  estimate  of  the  War  Department  is  25,000  Na 
tional  soldiers  kill'd  in  battle  and  never  buried  at  all,  5,000 
drown'd — 15,000  inhumed  by  strangers  or  on  the  march  in 
haste,  in  hitherto  unfound  localities— 2,000  graves  cover'd 
by  sand  and  mud,  by  Mississippi  freshets,  3, 000  carried  away 
by  caving-in  of  banks,  &c.,)— Gettysburgh,  the  West,  South 
west — Vicksburg — Chattanooga — the  trenches  of  Peters- 
burgh— the  numberless  battles,  camps,  Hospitals  everywhere 


DURING  TEE  WAR.  57 

— the  crop  reap'd  by  the  mighty  reapers,  Typhoid,  Dysen 
tery,  Inflammations— and  blackest  and  loathesomest  of  all, 
the  dead  and  living  burial-pits,  the  Prison-Pens  of  Anderson- 
ville,  Salisbury,  Belle-Isle,  &c.,  (not  Dante's  pictured  Hell 
and  all  its  woes,  its  degradations,  filthy  torments,  excell'd 
those  Prisons) — the  dead,  the  dead,  the  dead — our  dead — or 
South  or  North,  ours  all,  (all,  all,  all,  finally  dear  to  me) 
— or  East  or  West — Atlantic  Coast  or  Mississippi  Valley — 
Some  where  they  crawl'd  to  die,  alone,  in  bushes,  low  gul- 
leys,  or  on  the  sides  of  hills — (there,  in  secluded  spots,  their 
skeletons,  bleach'd  bones,  tufts  of  hair,  buttons,  fragments 
of  clothing,  are  occasionally  found,  yet)— our  young  men 
once  so  handsome  and  so  joyous,  taken  from  us— the  son 
from  the  mother,  the  husband  from  the  wife,  the  dear  friend 
from  the  dear  friend — the  clusters  of  camp  graves,  in  Georgia, 
the  Carolinas,  and  in  Tennessee — the  single  graves  in  the 
woods  or  by  the  road-side,  (hundreds,  thousands,  obliterated) 
— the  corpses  floated  down  the  rivers,  and  caught  and  lodged, 
(dozens,  scores,  floated  down  the  Upper  Potomac,  after  the 
cavalry  engagements,  the  pursuit  of  Lee,  following  Gettys- 
burgh) — some  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea — the  general  Mil 
lion,  and  the  special  Cemeteries  in  almost  all  the  States — 
the  Infinite  Dead — (the  land  entire  is  saturated,  perfumed 
with  their  impalpable  ashes'  exhalation  in  Nature's  chemistry 
distill'd,  and  shall  be  so  forever,  and  every  grain  of  wheat 
and  ear  of  corn,  and  every  flower  that  grows,  and  every 
breath  we  draw,) — not  only  Northern  dead  leavening  South 
ern  soil — thousands,  aye  many  tens  of  thousands,  of  South 
erners,  crumble  to-day  in  Northern  earth. 

And  everywhere  among  these  countless  graves — every 
where  in  the  many  Soldiers  Cemeteries  of  the  Nation,  (there 
are  over  seventy  of  them) — as  at  the  time  in  the  vast 
trenches,  the  depositaries  of  slain,  Northern  and  Southern, 
after  the  great  battles — not  only  where  the  scathing  trail 
pass'd  those  years,  but  radiating  since  in  all  the  peaceful 
quarters  of  the  land— we  see,  and  see,  and  ages  yet  may 
see,  on  monuments  and  gravestones,  singly  or  in  masses,  to 
thousands  er  tens  of  thousands,  the  significant  word 

UNKNO  WN. 

(In  some  of  the  Cemeteries  nearly  all  the  dead  are  Un 
known.  At  Salisbury,  N.  C.,  for  instance,  the  known  are 
only  85,  while  the  Unknown  are  12.027,  and  11,700  of  these 
are  buried  in  trenches.  A  National  Monument  has  been 
put  up  here,  by  order  of  Congress,  to  mark  the  spot— but 
what  visible,  material  monument  can  ever  fittingly  com 
memorate  that  spot  ?) 

As  I  write  this  conclusion— in  the  open  air,  latter  part  of 
June,  1875,  a  delicious  forenoon,  everything  rich  and  fresh 
from  last  night's  copious  rain— ten  years 'and  more  have 
8 


58  MEMORANDA,  £c. 

Eass'd  away  since  that  War,  and  its  wholesale  deaths, 
urials,  graves.  (They  make  indeed  the  true  Memoranda 
of  the  War — mute,  subtle,  immortal.)  From  ten  years' 
rain  and  snow,  in  their  seasons— grass,  clover,  pine  trees, 
orchards,  forests — from  all  the  noiseless  miracles  of  soil  and 
sun  and  running  streams — how  peaceful  and  how  beautiful 
appear  to-day  even  the  Battle-Trenches,  and  the  many 
hundred  thousand  Cemetery  mounds  !  Even  at  Anderson- 
ville,  to-day,  innocence  and  a  smile.  (A  late  account  says, 
'The  stockade  has  fallen  to  decay,  is  grown  upon,  and  a 
season  more  will  efface  it  entirely,  except  from  our  hearts 
and  memories.  .  The  dead  line,  over  which  so  many  brave 
soldiers  pass'd  to  the  freedom  of  eternity  rather  than  endure 
the  misery  of  life,  can  only  be  traced  here  and  there,  for 
most  of  the  old  marks  the  last  ten  years  have  obliterated. 
The  thirty-five  wells,  which  the  prisoners  dug  with  cups 
and  spoons,  remain  just  as  they  were  left.  And  the  wonder 
ful  spring  which  was  discovcr'd  one  morning,  after  a  thunder 
storm,  flowing  down  the  hillside,  still  yields  its  sweet,  pure 
water  as  freely  now  as  then.  The  Cemetery,  with  its  thir 
teen  thousand  graves,  is  on  the  slope  of  a  beautiful  hill. 
Over  the  quiet  spot  already  trees  give  the  cool  shade  which 
would  have  been  so  gratefully  sought  by  the  poor  fellows 
whose  lives  were  ended  under  the  scorching  sun.') 

And  now,  to  thought  of  these — on  these  graves  of  the 
dead  of  the  War,  as  on  an  altar— to  memory  of  these,  or 
North  or  South,  I  close  and  dedicate  my  book. 


NOTES. 


'  Convtdsiveness.'— As  I  have  look'd  over  the  proof-sheets  of  the  preceding 
Memoranda,  I  have  once  or  twice  fear'd  that  my  little  tract  would  prove,  at 
best,  but  a  batch  of  convulsively  written  reminiscences.  Well,  be  it  so.  They 
are  but  items,  parts  of  the  actual  distraction,  heat,  smoke  and  excitement  of 
those  times— of  the  qualities  that  then  and  there  took  shape.  The  War  itself 
with  the  temper  of  society  preceding  it,  can  indeed  be  best  described  by  that 
very  word,  Convulsiveness. 

Typical  Soldiers.— Even  the  typical  soldiers  I  was  personally  intimate  with, 
and  knew  well — it  seems  to  me  if  I  were  to  make  a  list  of  them  it  would  be 
like  a  City  Directory.  Some  few  only  have  I  mention'd  in  the  foregoing  pages 
— most  are  dead — a  few  yet  living.  There  is  Reuben  Farwell,  of  Michigan, 
(little  '  Mitch ;')  Benton  H.  Wilson,  color-bearer,  185th  New  York ;  Wm.  Stans- 
berry;  Manvill  Winterstein,  Ohio ;  Bethuel  Smith ;  Capt.  Sirnms,of  51st  New 
York,  (kill'd  at  Petersburg  mine  explosion,)  Capt.  Sam.  Pooley  and  Lieut. 
Fred.  McReady,  same  Reg't.  Also,  same  Reg't.,  my  brother,  Geo.  W.  Whit 
man — in  '61  a  young  man  working  in  Brooklyn  as  a  carpenter — was  not  sup 
posed  to  have  any  taste  for  soldiering — but  volunteer 'd  in  the  ranks  at  once  on 
the  breaking  out  of  the  War — continued  in  active  service  all  through,  four 
years,  re-enlisting  twice— was  promoted,  step  by  step,  (several  times  immedi 
ately  after  battles,)  Lieutenant,  Captain,  Major  and  Lieut.  Colonel — was  in 
the  actions  at  Roanoke,  Newbern,  2d  Bull  Run,  Chantilly,  South  Mountain, 
Antietam,  Fredericksburgh,  Vicksburgh,  Jackson,  the  bloody  conflicts  of  the 
Wilderness,  and  at  Spottsylvania,  Cold  Harbor,  and  afterwards  around  Peters 
burg.  At  one  of  these  latter  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  pass'd  four  or  five 
months  in  Secesh  military  prisons,  narrowly  escaping  with  life,  from  a  severe 
fever,  from  starvation  and  half-nakedness  in  the  winter. 

[What  a  history  that  51st  New  York  had  !  Went  out  early — march'd,  fought 
everywhere— was  in  storms  at  sea,  nearly  wreck'd— storm'd  forts— tramp'd 
hither  and  yon  in  Virginia,  night  and  day,  summer  of  '62 — afterwards  Ken 
tucky  and  Mississippi— re-enlisted— was  in  all  the  engagements  and  campaigns, 
as  above.] 

I  strengthen  and  comfort  myself  much  with  the  certainty  that  the  capacity 
for  just  such  Regiments,  (hundreds,  thousands  of  them)  is  inexhaustible  in  the 
United  States,  and  that  there  isn't  a  County  nor  a  Township  in  The  Republic 
—nor  a  street  in  any  City— but  could  turn'  out,  and,  on  occasion,  would  turn 
out,  lots  of  just  such  Typical  Soldiers,  whenever  wanted. 

Before  I  went  down  to  the  Field,  and  among  the  Hospitals,  I  had  my  hours 
of  doubt  about  These  States;  but  not  since.  The  bulk  of  the  Army,  to  me, 
develop'd,  transcended,  in  personal  qualities— and,  radically,  in  moral  ones- 
all  that  the  most  enthusiastic  Democratic-Republican  ever  fancied,  idealized 
in  loftiest  dreams.  And  curious  as  it  may  seem,  the  War,  to  me,  proved  Hu 
manity,  and  proved  America  and  the  Modern. 

(I  think  I  am  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  corruption  and  wickedness  of  my 
lands  and  days — the  general  political,  business  and  social  shams  and  shyster- 
isms,  everywhere.  Heaven  knows,  I  see  enough  of  them— running  foul  of 
them  continually  !  But  I  also  see  the  noblest  elements  in  society— and  not  in 


60  NOTES. 

specimens  only,  but  vast,  enduring,  inexhaustible  strata  of  them— ruggedness, 
simplicity,  courage,  love,  wit,  health,  liberty,  patriotism— all  the  virtues,  the 
main  bulk,  public  and  private.) 

Attack  on  Fort  Sumter,  April,  1861— What  ran  through  the  Land,  as  if 
by  electric  nerves,  and  show'd  itself  in  stupendous  and  practical  action,  im 
mediately  after  the  tiring  on  the  Flag  at  Fort  Sumter— the  Nation  ('till  then 
incredulous)  flush'd  in  the  face,  and  all  its  veins  fiercely  pulsing  and  pounding 
— the  arm'd  volunteers  instantaneously  springing  up  everywhere — the  tumul 
tuous  processions  of  the  regiments— Was  it  not  grand  to  have  lived  in  such 
scenes  and  days,  and  be  absorb'd  by  them,  and  unloosen'd  to  them? 

The  news  ot  the  attack  on  Sumter  was  receiv'd  in  New  York  city  late  at 
night,  (13th  April,  1861,)  and  was  immediately  sent  out  in  extras  of  the  news 
papers.  I  had  been  to  the  opera  in  Fourteenth  street  that  night,  and  after 
the  performance,  was  walking  down  Broadway  toward  twelve  o'clock,  on  my 
way  to  Brooklyn,  when  I  heard  in  the  distance  the  loud  cries  of  the  newsboys, 
who  came  presently  tearing  and  yelling  up  the  street,  rushing  from  side  to 
side  even  more  furiously  than  usual.  I  bought  an  extra  and  cross'd  to  the 
Metropolitan  Hotel  (Niblo's,)  where  the  great  lamps  were  still  brightly  blaz 
ing,  and,  with  a  small  crowd  of  others,  who  gather'd  impromptu,  read  the 
news,  which  was  evidently  authentic.  For  the  benefit  of  some  who  had  no 
papers,  one  of  us  read  the  telegram  aloud,  while  all  listen'd  silently  and  at 
tentively.  No  remark  was  made  by  any  of  the  crowd,  which  had  increas'd  to 
thirty  or  forty,  but  all  stood  a  minute  or  two,  I  remember,  before  they  dis- 
pers'd.  I  can  almost  see  them  there  now,  under  the  lamps  at  midnight  again. 

The  ensuing  three  Months — The  National  Uprising  and  Volunteering I  hav  e 

said  in  another  place  that  the  three  Presidentiads  preceding  1861  show'd  ho  w 
the  weakness  and  wickedness  of  rulers  are  just  as  eligible  here  in  America  un 
der  republican,  as  in  Europe  under  dynastic  influences.  But  what  can  I  say 
of  that  prompt  and  splendid  wrestling  with  Secession-Slavery,  the  arch  enemy 
personified,  the  instant  he  unmistakably  show'd  his  face? The  volcanic  up 
heaval  of  the  Nation,  after  that  firing  on  the  flag  at  Charleston,  proved  for 
certain  something  which  had  been  previously  in  great  doubt,  and  at  once 
substantially  settled  the  question  of  Disunion.  In  my  judgment  it  will  remain 
as  the  grandest  and  most  encouraging  spectacle  yet  vouchsafed  in  any  age, 
old  or  new,  to  political  progress  and  Democracy.  It  was  not  for  what  came  to 
the  surface  merely — though  that  was  important ;  but  what  it  indicated  below, 
which  was  of  eternal  importance Down  in  the  abvsms  of  New  World  hu 
manity  there  had  form'd  and  harden'd  a  primal  hardpan  of  National  Union 
Will,  determin'tl  and  in  the  majority,  refusing  to  be  tamper'd  with  or  argued 
against,  confronting  all  emergencies,  and  capable  at  any  time  of  bursting  all 
surface-bonds,  and  breaking  out  like  an  earthquake.  It  is  indeed  the  best 
lesson  of  the  century,  or  of  America,  and  it  is  a  mighty  privilege  to  have  been 

part  of  it (Two  great  spectacles,  immortal  proofs  of  Democracy,  unequall'd 

in  all  the  history  of  the  past,  are  furnish'd  by  this  War— one  at  the  beginning, 
the  other  at  its  close.  Those  are — the  general  Voluntary  Armed  Upheaval — 
and  the  peaceful  and  harmonious  Disbanding  of  the  Armies,  in  the  summer  of 
1865.) 

Contemptuous  National  feeling — Even  after  the  bombardment  of  Sumter- 
however,  the  gravity  of  the  revolt,  and  the  power  and  will  of  the  Slave  States 
for  a  strong  and  continued  military  resistance  to  National  authority,  was  not 
at  all  realized  through  the  North,  except  by  a  few.  Nine-  tenths  of  the  people 
of  the  Free  States  look'd  upon  the  rebellion,  as  started  in  South  Carolina,  from 
a  feeling  one-half  of  contempt  and  the  other  half  composed  of  anger  and  in 
credulity.  It  was  not  thought  it  would  be  join'd  in  by  Virginia,  North  Caro 
lina  or  Georgia.  A  great  and  cautious  National  official  predicted  that  it  would 
blow  over  'in  sixty  days,'  and  folks  generally  belie v'd  the  prediction.  I  re 
member  talking  about  it  on  a  Fulton  terry-boat  with  the  Brooklyn  Mayor,  who 
said  he  only  'hoped  the  Southern  fire-eaters  would  commit  some  overt  act  of 
resistance,  as  they  would  then  be  at  once  so  effectually  squelch'd,we  would 
never  hear  of  Secession  again — but  he  was  afraid  they  never  would  have  the 

pluck  to  really  do  anything.' I  remember  too  that  a  couple  of  companies 

of  the  Thirteenth  Brooklyn,  who  rendezvou'd  at  the  City  Armory,  and  started 
thence  as  Thirty  Days'  Men,  were  all  provided  with  pieces  of  rope  conspicu 
ously  tied  to  their  musket  barrels,  with  which  to  bring  back  each  man  a  pris 
oner  from  the  audacious  South,  to  be  led  in  a  noose,  on  ^ur  men's  early  and 
triumphal  return !  [This  was  indeed  the  general  feeling,  and  came  to  the 
surface.  Still,  there  was  a  very  strong  Secession  party  at  the  North,  as  I  shall 
mention  in  a  Note  further  on.] 

Battle  of  Bull  Bun,  July,  1861.— All  this  sort  of  feeling  was  destin'd  to  be  ar- 


NOTES.  61 

rested  and  cut  short  and  revers'd  by  a  terrible  shock—  the  battle  of  First  Bull 
Run—  certainly,  as  we  now  know  it,  one  of  the  most  singular  tights  on  record. 
(All  battles,  and  their  results,  are  far  more  matters  of  accident  than  is  gene 
rally  thought  ;  but  this  was  throughout  a  casualty,  a  chance.  Each  side  sup 
posed  it  had  won,  till  the  last  moment.  One  had  in  point  of  fact  just  the  same 
right  to  be  routed  as  the  other.  By  a  fiction,  or  series  of  fictions,  the  National 
forces,  at  the  last  moment,  exploded  in  a  panic,  and  fled  from  the  field.) 

The  troops  commenced  pouring  into  Washington,  over  the  Long  Bridge,  at 
day-light  on  Monday  22d—  day  drizzling  all  through  with  rain. 

The  Saturday  and  Sunday  of  the  battle,  (20th,  21st,)  had  been  parch'd  and 
hot  to  an  extreme—  the  dust,  the  grime  and  smoke,  in  layers,  sweated  in,  fol- 
low'd  by  other  layers,  again  sweated  in,  absorb'd  by  those  excited  souls  —  their 
clothes  all  saturated  with  the  clay-powder  filling  the  air—  stirr'd  up  every 
where  on  the  dry-roads  and  trodden  fields,  by  the  regiments,  swarming  wagons, 
artillery,  &c.—  all  the  men,  with  this  coating  of  murk  and  sweat  and  Virginia 
rain  —  now  recoiling  back  —  pouring  over  the  Long  Bridge,  a  horrible  march  of 
twenty  miles,  returningto  Washington  baffled,  humiliated,  panic-struck  !  ...... 

Where  are  the  vaunts,  and  the  proud  boasts  with  which  you  went  forth  ?  Where 
are  your  banners,  and  your  bands  of  music,  and  your  ropes  to  bring  back  your 
prisoners?    Well,  there  isn't  a  band  playing—  and  there  isn't  a  flag  but  clings 
ashamed  and  lank  to  its  staif.  ......  The  sun  rises,  but  shines  not.    The  men  ap 

pear,  at  first  sparsely  and  shame-faced  enough—  then  thicker  in  the  streets  of 
Washington  —  appear  in  Pennsylvania  avenue,  and  on  the  steps  and  basement 
entrances.    They  come  along  in  disorderly  mobs,  some  in  squads,  stragglers, 
companies.    Occasionally,  a  rare  regiment,  in  perfect  order,  with  its  officers 
(some  gaps,  dead,  the  true  braves,)  marching  in  silence,  with  lowering  faces, 
stern,  weary  to  sinking,  all  black  and  dirty,  but  every  man  with  his  musket, 
and  stepping  alive  ;  —  but  these  are  the  exceptions  .......  Sidewalks  of  Pennsyl 

vania  a  venue,  Fourteenth  street,  &c.,  crowded,  jamm'd  with  citizens,  darkies, 
clerks,  everybody,  lookers-on  ;  women  in  the  windows,  curious  expressions 
from  faces,  as  those  swarms  of  dirt-cover  'd  return'd  soldiers  there  (will  they 
never  end?)  move  by;  but  nothing  said,  no  comments;  (half  our  lookers-on 
Secesh  of  the  most  venomous  kind—  they  say  nothing  ;  but  the  devil  snickers 
in  their  faces.  ) 

During  the  forenoon  Washington  gets  motley  with  the  dirt-cover'd  soldiers  — 
queer-looking  objects, 
zles  on  all  day)  and 


Good  people  (but  not  over-many  of  t 
grub.  They  put  wash-kettles  on  the  fire,  for  soup,  for'  coffee.  They  set  tables 
on  the  side-walks—wagon  loads  of  bread  are  purchas'd,  swiftly  cut  in  stout 
chunks.  Here  are  two  aged  ladies,  beautiful,  the  first  in  the  city  for  culture 
and  charm,  they  stand  with  store  of  eating  and  drink  at  an  improvised  table 
of  rough  plank,  and  give  food,  and  have  the  store  replenish  'd  from  their  house 
every  half-hour  all  that  day  ;  and  there  in  the  rain  they  stand,  active,  silent, 
white-hair'd,  and  give  food,  though  the  tears  stream  down  their  cheeks,  almost 
without  intermission,  the  whole  time. 

Amid  the  deep  excitement,  crowds  and  motion,  and  desperate  eagerness,  it 
seems  strange  to  see  many,  very  many,  of  the  soldiers  sleeping—  in  the  midst 
of  all,  sleeping  sound.  They  drop  down  anywhere,  on  the  steps  of  houses,  up 
close  by  the  basements  or  fences,  on  the  sidewalk,  aside  on  some  vacant  lot, 
and  deeply  sleep.  A  poor  seventeen  or  eighteen  year  old  boy  lies  there,  on 
the  stoop  of  a  grand  house  ;  he  sleeps  so  calmly,  so  profoundly  !  Some  clutch 
their  muskets  firmly  even  in  sleep.  Some  in  squads;  comrades,  brothers, 
close  together  —  and  on  them,  as  they  lay,  sulkily  drips  the  rain. 

As  afternoon  pass'd,  and  evening  came,  the  streets,  the  bar-rooms,  knots 
everywhere,  listeners,  questioners,  terrible  yarns,  bugaboo,  mask'd  batteries, 
our  regiment  all  cut  up,  &c.,—  stories  and  story-tellers,  windy,  bragging,  vain 
centres  of  street-crowds.  Resolution,  manliness,  seem  to  have  abandon'd  Wash 
ington.  The  principal  hotel,  Willard's,  is  full  of  shoulder-straps—  thick,  crush  'd, 
creeping  with  shoulder-straps.  (I  see  them,  and  must  have  a  word  with  them. 
There  you  are,  shoulder-straps!  —  but  where  are  your  companies?  where  are 
your  men?  Incompetents!  never  tell  me  of  chances  of  battle,  of  getting 
stray'd,  and  the  like.  I  think  this  is  your  work,  this  retreat,  after  all.  Sneak, 
blow,  put  on  airs  there  in  Willard's  sumptuous  parlors  and  bar-rooms,  or  any 
where—no  explanation  shall  save  you.  Bull  Run  is  your  work  ;  had  you  been 
half  or  one-tenth  worthy  your  men,  this  would  never  have  happen'd.) 

Meantime,  in  Washington,  among  the  great  persons  and  their  entourage,  a 
mixture  of  awful  consternation,  uncertainty,  rage,  shame,  helplessness,  and 
stupefying  disappointment!  The  worst  is  not  only  imminent,  but  already 
here.  In  a  few  hours—  perhaps  before  the  next  meal—  the  Secesh  generals, 
with  their  victorious  hordes,  will  be  upon  us.  The  dream  of  Humanity,  the 


62  NOTES. 

vaunted  Union  we  thought  so  strong,  so  impregnable— lo !  it  is  smash 'd  like  a 
china  plate.  One  bitter,  bitter  hour — perhaps  proud  America  will  never  again 
know  such  a  bitter  hour.  She  must  pack  and  fly— no  time  to  spare.  Those 
white  palaces — the  dome-crown'd  Capitol  there  on  the  hill,  so  statelv  over  the 

trees— shall  they  be  left— or  destroy'd  first? For  it  is  certain  that  the  talk 

among  the  magnates  and  officers  and  clerks  and  officials  every  where,  for  twen 
ty-four  hours  in  and  around  Washington,  after  Bull  It un,  was  loud  and  undis 
guised  for  yielding  put  and  out,  and  substituting  the  Southern  rule,  and  Lin 
coln  promptly  abdicating  and  departing.  If  the  Secesh  officers  and  forces 
had  immediately  follow'd,  and  by  a  bold  Napoleonic  movement,  had  enter'd 
"Washington  the  first  day,  (or  even  the  second,)  they  could  have  had  things 
their  own  way,  and  a  powerful  faction  North  to  back  them.  One  of  our  re 
turning  officers  express'd  in  public  that  night,  amid  a  swarm  of  officers  and 
gentlemen  in  a  crowded  room,  the  opinion  that  it  was  useless  to  fight,  that  the 
Southerners  had  made  their  title  clear  to  their  own  terms,  and  that  the  best 
course  for  the  National  Government  to  pursue  was  to  desist  from  any  further 
attempt  at  stopping  them,  and  admit  them  again  to  the  lead  on  the  best  terms 
they  were  willing  to  grant.  Not  a  voice  was  rais'd  against  this  judgment  amid 
that  large  crowd  of  officers  and  gentlemen.  CThe  fact  is,  the  hour  was  one  of 
the  three  or  four  of  those  crises  we  had  during  the  fluctuations  of  four  years, 
when  human  eyes  appear 'd  at  least  just  as  likely  to  see  the  last  breath  of  the 
Union  as  tb  see  it  continue.) 

But  the  hour,  the  day,  the  night  pass'd,  and  whatever  returns,  an  hour,  a 
day,  a  night  like  that  can  never  again  return.  The  President,  recovering  him 
self,  begins  that  very  night — sternly,  rapidly  sets  about  the  work  of  reorgan 
izing  his  forces,  and  placing  himself  in  positions  for  future  and  greater  work. 
If  there  were  nothing  else  of  Abraham  Lincoln  for  history  to  stamp  him  with, 
it  is  enough  to  send  him  with  his  wreath  to  the  memory  of  all  future  time,  that 
he  endured  that  hour,  that  dav,  bitterer  than  gall — indeed  a  crucifixion  dav — 
that  it  did  not  conquer  him — that  he  unflinchingly  stemm'd  it,  and  resolv'u  to 
lift  himself  and  the  Union  out  of  it. 

Then  the  great  New  York  papers  at  once  appear'd,  (commencing  that  very 
evening,  and  following  it  up  the  next  morning,  and  incessantly  through  many 
days  afterwards,)  with  leaders  that  rang  out  over  the  land,  with  the  loudest, 
most  reverberating  ring  of  clearest,  wildest  bugles,  full  of  encouragement, 
hope,  inspiration,  unfaltering  defiance.  Those  magnificent  editorials !  they 
never  flagg'd  for  a  fortnight.  The  Herald  commenced  them — I  remember  the 
articles  well.  The  Tribune  was  equally  cogent  and  inspiriting— and  the  Times, 
Evening  Post,  and  other  principal  papers,  were  not  a  whit  behind.  They  came 
in  good  time,  for  they  were  needed.  For  in  the  Immiliation  of  Bull  Run,  the 
popular  feeling  North,  from  its  extreme  of  superciliousness,  recoil'd  to  the 
depth  of  gloom  and  apprehension. 

(Of  all  the  days  of  the  War,  there  are  two  especially  I  can  never  forget. 
Those  were  the  day  following  the  news,  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  of  that 
first  Bull  Run  defeat,  and  the  day  of  Abraham  Lincoln's  death.  I  was  home  in 
Brooklyn  on  both  occasions.  The  day  of  the  murder  we  heard  the  news  very 
early  in  the  morning.  Mother  prepared  breakfast— and  other  meals  after 
ward—as  usual ;  but  not  a  mouthful  was  eaten  all  day  by  either  of  us.  We 
each  drank  half  a  cup  of  coffee  ;  that  was  all.  Little  was  said  We  got  ev 
ery  newspaper  morning  and  evening,  and  the  frequent  extras  of  that  period, 
and  pass'd  them  silently  to  each  other. ) 

Sherman's  Army-s  Jubilation,  1865— Its  sudden  stoppage.— When  Sherman's 
Armies,  (long  after  they  left  Atlanta,)  were  marching  through  South  and 
North  Carolina— after  leaving  Savannah,  the  news  of  Lee's  capitulation  hav 
ing  been  receiv'd— the  men  never  mov'd  a  mile  without  from  some  part  of  the 
line  sending  up  continued,  inspiriting  shouts  and  cries.  At  intervals  every 
little  while,  all  day  long,  sounded  out  the  wild  music  of  those  peculiar  army 
cries.  They  would  be  commenc'd  by  one  regiment  or  brigade,  immediately 
taken  up  by  others,  and  at  length  whole  corps  and  Armies  would  join  in  these 
wild  triumphant  choruses.  It  was  one  of  the  characteristic  expressions  of  the 
western  troops,  and  became  a  habit,  serving  as  relief  and  outlet  to  the  men — 
a  vent  for  their  feelings  of  victory,  returning  peace,  &c.  Morning,  noon,  and 
afternoon,  spontaneous,  for  occasion,  or  without  occasion,  these  huge,  strange 
cries,  differing  from  any  other,  echoing  though  the  open  air  for  many  a  mile, 
expressing  youth,  joy,  wildness,  irrepressible  strength,  and  the  ideas  of  ad 
vance  and  conquest,  sounded  along  the  swamps  and  uplands  of  the  South, 
floating  to  the  skies  ('  There  never  were  men  that  kept  in  better  spirits,  in  dan 
ger  or  defeat— what  then  could  they  do  in  victory  ?'— said  one  of  the  15th 
Corps  to  me,  afterwards.) 

This  exuberance  continued  till  the  Armies  arrived  at  Raleigh.    There  thfi 


NOTES.  63 

news  of  the  President's  murder  was  receiv'd.  Then  no  more  shouts  or  yells, 
for  a  week.  All  the  marching  was  comparatively  muffled.  It  was  very  sig 
nificant—hardly  a  loud  word  or  laugh  in  many  of  the  regiments.  A  hush  and 
silence  pervaded  all. 

Attitude  of  Foreign  Governments  toward  the  U.  S.  during  the  War  of  1861-'65. 
—Looking  over  my  scraps,  I  find  I  wrote  the  following  during  1804,  or  the  lat 
ter  part  of  '63 : 

The  happening  to  our  America,  abroad  as  well  as  at  home,  these  years,  is 
indeed  most  strange.  The  Democratic  Republic  has  paid  her  to-day  the 
terrible  and  resplendent  compliment  of  the  united  wish  of  all  the  nations 
of  the  world  that  her  Union  should  be  broken,  her  future  cut  oft",  and 
that  she  should  be  compell'd  to  descend  to  the  level  of  kingdoms  and  empires 
ordinarily  great !  There  is  certainly  not  one  government  in  Europe  but  is 
now  watching  the  war  in  this  country,  with  the  ardent  prayer  that  the  United 
States  may  be  effectually  split,  crippled,  and  dismember'd  by  it.  There  is  not 
one  but  would  help  toward  that  dismemberment,  if  it  dared.  I  say  such  is  the 
ardent  wish  to-day  of  England  and  of  France,  as  governments,  and  of  all  the 
nations  of  Europe,  as  governments.  I  think  indeed  it  is  to-day  the  real,  heart 
felt  wish  of  all  the  nations  of  the  world,  with  the  single  exception  of  Mexico 
— Mexico,  the  only  one  to  whom  we  have  ever  really  done  wrong,  and  now  the 
only  one  who  prays  for  us  and  for  our  triumph,  with  genuine  prayer. 

Is  it  not  indeed  strange  ?  America,  made  up  of  all,  cheerfully  from  the  be 
ginning  opening  her  arms  to  all,  the  result  and  justilier  of  all,  ot  Britain,  Ger» 
many,  France  and  Spain— all  here— the  accepter,  the  friend,  hope,  last  re^ 
source  and  general  house  of  all — she  who  has  harm'd  none,  but  been  bounte 
ous  to  so  many,  to  millions,  the  mother  of  strangers  and  exiles,  all  nations- 
should  now  I  say  be  paid  this  dread  compliment  of  general  governmental  fear 
and  hatred? Are  we  indignant?  alarm'd  ?  Do  we  feel  wrong'd?  jeop 
ardized?  No;  help'd,  braced,  concentrated,  rather.  We  are  all  too  prone  to 
wander  from  ourselves,  to  affect  Europe,  and  watch  her  frowns  and  smiles. 
We  need  this  hot  lesson  of  general  hatred,  and  henceforth  must  never  forget  it. 
Never  again  will  we  trust  the  moral  sense  nor  abstract  friendliness  of  a  single 
.government  of  the  old  world. 

JVo  good  Portrait  of  Abraham  Lincoln.— Probably  the  reader  has  seen  physi 
ognomies  (often  old  farmers,  sea-captains,  and  such)  that,  behind  their  home 
liness,  or  even  ugliness,  held  superior  points  so  subtle,  yet  so  palpable,  defying 
Hie  lines  of  art,  making  the  real  life  of  their  faces  almost  as  impossible  to  de 
pict  as  a  wild  perfume  or  fruit-taste,  or  a  passionate  tone  of  the  living  voice 

and  Such  was  Lincoln's  face,  the  peculiar  color,  the  lines  of  it,  the  eyes,  mouth, 
((expression,  &c.  Of  technical  beatety  it  had  nothing— but  to  the  eye  of  a  great 
artist  it  furnished  a  rare  study,  a  feast  and  fascination The  current  por 
traits  are  all  failures — =most  of  them  caricatures. 

The  War,  though  with  two  sides,  really  ONE  IDENTITY  (a*  struggles,  furious 
•conflicts  of  Nature,  for  final  harmony.) — The  Soil  it  bred  and  riven1  d  from — the 
Worth  as  responsible  for  it  as  the  South — Of  the  War  of  Attempted  Secession— 
the  greatest  National  event  of  the  first  Century  of  the  United  States,  and  one 
;among  the  great  events  of  all  Centuries — the  main  points  of  its  origin,  and  the 
conditions  out  of  which  it  arose,  are  full  of  lessons,  full  of  warnings  yet  to  the 
Republic,  and  always  will  be.  The  underlying  and  principal  of  those  points 
are  yet  singularly  ignored.  The  Northern  States  were  really  just  as  responsi 
ble  for  that  War,  (in  its  precedents,  foundations,  instigations,)  as  the  South. 
Let  me  try  to  give  my  view. 

From  the  age  of  21  to  40.  (1840-'60,)  I  was  interested  in  the  political  move- 
iments  of  the  land,  not  so  much  as  a  participant,  but  as  an  observer,  though  a 
regular  voter  at  the  elections.  I  think  I  was  conversant  with  the  springs  of 
action,  and  their  workings,  not  only  in  New  York  city  and  Brooklyn,  but  un- 
-derstood  them  in  the  whole  country,  as  I  had  made  leisurely  tours  through 
all  the  Middle  States,  and  partially  through  the  Western  and  Southern,  and 
-down  to  New  Orleans,  in  which  city  I  resided  for  some  time.  (I  was  there  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  Mexican  War— saw  and  talk'd  with  Gen.  Taylor,  and 
'the  other  generals  and  officers,  who  were  feted  and  detain'd  several  days,  on 
!their  return  victorious  from  that  expedition.) 

Of  course  many  and  very  contradictory  things,  specialties,  prejudices,  Con 
stitutional  views,  &c.,  went  to  make  up 'the  origin  df  the  War— but  perhaps 
the  most  significant  general  fact  can  be  .best  indicated  and  stated  as  follows: 
For  twenty-five  years  previous  to  the  outbreak,  the  controling  'Democratic' 
.nominating  conventions— startup  from  their  primaries  in  wards  or  districts., 
.•and  so  expanding  to  counties,  powerful  cities,  .States,  and  to  ,the  great  Presi 
dent-Naming  Conventions— were  getting  to  represent,  and  to 'be  composed  of, 
anore  and  joaore  putrid  and  dangerous  waterials.  'Let  j»e  give  #  schedule,  or 


64  NOTES. 

list,  of  one  of  these  representative  Conventions  for  a  long  time  before,  and  in 
clusive  of,  that  which  nominated  Buchanan.  (Remember  they  had  come  to 
be  the  fountains  and  tissues  of  the  American  body  politic,  forming,  as  it  were, 
the  whole  blood,  legislation,  office-holding,  &c.)  One  of  these  Conventions 
from  1840  to  '60  exhibited  a  spectacle  such  as  could  never  be  seen  except  in  our 
own  age  and  in  These  States.  The  members  who  composed  it  were,  seven- 
eighths  of  them,  office-holders,  office-seekers,  pimps,  malignants,  conspirators, 
murderers,  fancy-men,  custom-house  clerks,  contractors,  kept-editors,  span 
iels  well-train'd  to  carry  and  fetch,  jobbers,  infidels,  disunionists,  terrorists, 
mail-riflers,  slave-catchers,  pushers  of  slavery,  creatures  of  the  President, 
creatures  of  would-be  Presidents,  spies,  blowers,  electioneerers,  bawlers, 
bribers,  compromisers,  lobbyers,  sponges,  ruined  sports,  expell'd  gamblers, 
policy-backers,  monte-dealers,  duelists,  carriers  of  conceal'd  weapons,  deaf 
men,  pimpled  men,  scarr'd  inside  with  vile  disease,  gaudy  outside  with  gold 
chains  made  from  the  people's  money  and  harlot's  money  twisted  together ; 
crawling,  serpentine  men,  the  lousy  combings  and  born  freedom-sellers  of  the 
earth.  And  whence  came  they  ?  From  back-yards  and  bar-rooms ;  from  out 
of  the  custom-houses,  marshals'  offices,  post-offices,  and  gambling  hells;  from 
the  President's  house,  the  jail,  the  station-house;  from  unnamed  by-places 
where  devilish  disunion  was  hatched  at  midnight;  from  political  hearses,  and 
from  the  coffins  inside,  and  from  the  shrouds  inside  of  the  coffins ;  from 
the  tumors  and  abscesses  of  the  land ;  from  the  skeletons  and  skulls  in  the 
vaults  of  the  federal  almshouses ;  and  from  the  running  sores  of  the  great 

cities Such,  I  say,  form'd  the  entire  personnel,  the  atmosphere,  nutriment 

and  chyle,  of  our  municipal,  State  and  National  Politics— substantially  per 
meating,  handling,  deciding  and  wielding  everything— legislation,  nomina 
tions,  elections,  <  public  sentiment'  &c.,— while  the  great  masses  of  the  people, 
farmers,  mechanics  and  traders,  were  helpless  in  their  gripe.  These  condi 
tions  were  mostly  prevalent  in  the  North  and  "West,  and  especially  in  New 
York  and  Philadelphia  cities ;  and  the  Southern  leaders,  (bad  enough,  but  of  a 

far  higher  order,)  struck  hands  and  affiliated  with,  and  used  them Is  it 

strange  that  a  thunder-storm  follow'd  such  morbid  and  stifling  strata  ? 

I  say  then,  that  what,  as  just  outlined,  heralded  and  made  the  ground  ready 
for  Secession  revolt,  ought  to  be  held  up,  through  all  the  future,  as  the  most 
instructive  lesson  in  American  Political  History— the  most  significant  warning 
and  beacon-light  to  coming  generations I  say  that  the  sixteenth,  seven 
teenth  and  eighteenth  terms  of  the  American  Presidency  have  shown  that  the 
villainy  and  shallowness  of  rulers  (back'd  by  the  machinery  of  great  parties) 
are  just  as  eligible  to  These  States  as  to  any  foreign  despotism,  kingdom,  or 
empire— there  is  not  a  bit  of  difference.  History  is  to  record  those  three  Presi- 
dentiads,  and  especially  the  administrations  of  Fillmore  and  Buchanan,  as  so 
far  our  topmost  warning  and  shame.  Never  were  publicly  display'd  more 
deform'd,  mediocre,  snivelling,  unreliable,  false-hearted  men  !  Never  were 
These  States  so  insulted,  and  attempted  to  be  betray 'd !  All  the  main  pur 
poses  for  which  the  government  was  establish'd,  were  openly  denied.  The 
perfect  equality  of  slavery  with  freedom  was  flauntingly  preach'd  in  the 
North— nay,  the  superiority  of  slavery.  The  slave  trade  was  proposed  to  be 
renew'd.  Everywhere  frowns  and  misunderstandings — everywhere  exasp 
erations  and  humiliations (The  Slavery  contest  is  settled— and  the  War  is 

over— yet  do  not  those  putrid  conditions,  too  many  of  them,  still  exist?  still 
result  in  diseases,  fevers,  wounds— not  of  War  and  Army  Hospitals— but  the 
wounds  and  diseases  of  Peace  ?) 

Out  of  those  generic  influences,  mainly  in  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  Ohio, 
&c.,  arose  the  attempt  at  disunion.  To  philosophical  examination,  the  ma 
lignant  fever  of  this  war  shows  its  embryonic  sources,  and  the  original  nourish 
ment  of  its  life  and  growth,  in  the  North.  I  say  Secession,  below  the  surface, 
originated  and  was  brought  to  maturity  in  the  Free  States.  I  allude  to  the 
score  of  years  preceding  1860.  The  events  of  '61  amazed  everybody  North  and 
South,  and  burst  all  prophecies  and  calculations  like  bubbles.  But  even  then , 
and  during  the  whole  War,  the  stern  fact  remains  that  (not  only  did  the  North 
put  it  down,  but)  the  Secession  cause  had  numerically  just  as  many  sympathizers 
in  the  Free  as  in  the  Rebel  States. 

As  to  slavery,  abstractly  and  practically,  (its  idea,  and  the  determination  to 
establish  and  expand  it,  especially  in  the  new  Territories,  the  future  America,) 
it  is  too  common,  I  say,  to  identify  it  exclusively  with  the  South.  In  fact 
down  to  the  opening  of  the  War,  the  whole  country  had  about  an  equal  hand 
in  it.  The  North  had  at  least  been  just  as  guilty,  if  not  more  guilty ;  and  the 
East  and  West  had.  The  former  Presidents  and  Congresses  had  been  guilty 
—the  Governors  and  Legislatures  of  every  Northern  State  had  been  guilty, 
and  the  Mayors  of  New  York  and  other  northern  cities  had  all  been  guilty— 
their  hands  were  all  stain'd. 


NOTES.  65 

So  much  for  that  point,  and  for  the  North As  to  the  inception  and  direct 

instigation  of  the  War,  in  the  South  itself,  I  shall  not  attempt  interiors  or 
complications.  Behind  all,  the  idea  that  it  was  from  a  resolute"  and  arrogant 
determination  on  the  part  of  the  extreme  Slaveholders,  the  Calhounites,  to 
carry  the  States  Rights'  portion  of  the  Constitutional  Compact  to  its  farthest 
verge,  and  Nationalize  Slavery,  or  else  disrupt  the  Union,  and  found  a  new 
Empire,  with  Slavery  for  its  corner-stone,  was  and  is  undoubtedly  the  true 
theory.  (If  successful,  this  attempt  would  of  course  have  destroy 'd  not  only 
our  American  Republic,  in  anything  like  first-class  proportions,  in  itself  and 
its  prestige,  but  forages  at  least,  the  cause  of  Liberty  and  Equality  every 
where,  and  would  have  been  the  greatest  triumph  of  reaction,  and  the  severest 
blow  to  political  and  every  other  freedom,  possible  to  conceive.  Its  worst  re 
sults  would  have  inured  to  the  Southern  States  themselves.) 

That  our  National-Democratic  experiment,  principle,  and  machinery,  could 
triumphantly  sustain  such  a  shock,  and  that  the  Constitution  could  weather 
it,  like  a  ship  a  storm,  and  come  out  of  it  as  sound  and  whole  as  before,  is  by 
far  the  most  signal  proof  yet  of  the  stability  of  that  experiment,  Democracy, 
and  of  those  principles,  and  that  Constitution.  But  the  case  is  not  fully  stated 
at  that.  It  is  certain  to  me  that  the  United  States,  by  virtue  of  the  Secession 
War  and  its  results,  and  through  that  and  them  only,  are  now  ready  to  enter, 
and  must  certainly  enter,  upon  their  genuine  career  in  history,  as  no  more 
torn  and  divided  in  their  spinal  requisites,  but  a  great  Homogeneous  Nation, 
—Free  States  all— a  moral  and  political  unity  in  variety,  such  as  Nature  shows 
in  her  grandest  physical  works,  and  as  much  greater  than  any  mere  work  of 
Nature,  as  the  moral  and  political,  the  work  of  man,  his  mind,  his  soul,  are, 

in  their  loftiest  sense,  greater  than  the  merely  physical Out  of  that  War 

not  only  has  the  Nationality  of  The  States  escaped'  from  being  strangled,  but 
more  than  any  of  the  rest,  and,  in  my  opinion,  more  than  the  North  itself,  the 
vital  heart  and  breath  of  the  South  have  escaped  as  from  the  pressure  of  a 
general  nightmare,  and  are  now  to  enter  on  a  life,  development,  and  active 
freedom,  whose  realities  are  certain  in  the  future,  notwithstanding  all  the 
Southern  vexations  and  humiliations  of  the  hour— a  development  which  could 
not  possibly  have  been  achiev'd  on  any  less  terms,  or  by  any  other  means  than 
that  War,  or  something  equivalent  to  it.  And  I  predict  that  the  South  is  yet 
to  outstrip  the  North. 

Then  another  fact,  never  hitherto  broach'd,  Nationally— probably  several 
facts,  perhaps  paradoxical— needing  rectification— (for  the  whole  sense  and 
justice  of  the  War  must  not  be  supposed  to  be  confined  to  the  Northern  point 
of  view.)  Is  there  not  some  side  from  which  the  Secession  cause  itself  has  its 
justification?  Was  there  ever  a  great  popular  movement,  or  revolt,  or  revolu 
tion,  or  attempt  at  revolution,  without  some  solid  basis  interwoven  with  it,  and 

supporting  it?  at  least  something  that  could  be  said  in  behalf  of  it? We  are 

apt  to  confine  our  view  to  the  few  more  glaring  and  more  atrocious  Southern 
features — the  arrogance  of  most  of  the  leading  men  and  politicians — the  fear 
ful  crime  of  Slavery  itself— But  the  time  will  come— perhaps  has  come— to  be 
gin  to  take  a  Philosophical  view  of  the  whole  affair. 

Already,  as  I  write  this  concluding  Note  to  my  Memoranda,  (Summer,  1875,) 
a  new,  maturing  generation  has  swept  in,  obliterating  with  oceanic  currents 
the  worst  reminiscences  of  the  War ;  and  the  passage  of  time  has  heal'd  over 
at  least  its  deepest  scars.  Already,  the  events  of  1861-65,  and  the  seasons  that 
immediately  preceded,  as  well  as  those  that  closely  follow'd  them,  have  lost 
their  direct  personal  impression,  and  the  living  heat  and  excitement  of  their 
own  time,  and  are  being  marshall'd  for  casting,  or  getting  ready  to  be  cast, 
into  the  cold  and  bloodless  electrotype  plates  of  History.  Or,  if  we  admit  that 
the  savage  temper  and  wide  differences  of  opinion,  and  feelings  of  wrongs,  and 
mutual  recriminations,  that  led  to  the  War,  and  flamed  in  its  mortal  conflagra 
tion,  may  not  have  yet  entirely  burnt  themselves  out,  the  embers  of  them  are 
dying  embers,  and  a  few  more  winters  and  summers,  a  few  more  rains  and 
snows,  will  surely  quench  their  fires,  and  leave  them  only  as  a  far  off'  memory. 
Already  the  War  of  Attempted  Secession  has  become  a  thing  of  the  past. 

And  now  I  have  myself,  in  my  thought,  deliberately  come  to  unite  the  whole 
conflict,  both  sides,  the  South  and  North,  really  into  One,  and  to  view  it  as  a 
struggle  going  on  within  One  Identity.  Like  any  of  Nature's  great  convul 
sions,  wars  going  on  within  herself — not  from  separated  sets  of  laws  and  in 
fluences,  but  the  same— really,  efforts,  conflicts,  most  violent  ones,  for  deeper 
harmony,  freer  and  larger  scope,  completer  homogeneousness  and  power. 

What  is  any  Nation,  after  all — and  what  is  a  human  being — but  a  struggle 
between  conflicting,  paradoxical,  opposing  elements — and  they  themselves  and 
their  most  violent  contests,  important  parts  of  that  One  Identity,  and  of  its 
development? 


66  NOTES. 

Retults  South—Now  and  Hence.— The  present  condition  of  things  (18751  in 
South  Carolina,  Mississippi,  Louisiana,  and  other  parts  of  the  former  Slave 
States— the  ufter  change  and  overthrow  of  their  whole  social,  and  the  greatest 
coloring  feature  of  their  political  institutions— a  horror  and  dismay,  as  of  lim 
itless  sea  and  tire,  sweeping  over  them,  and  substituting  the  confusion,  chaos, 
and  measureless  degradation  and  insult  of  the  present— the  black  domination , 
but  little  above  the  beasts — viewed  as  a  temporary,  deserv'd  punishment  for 
their  Slavery  and  Secession  sins,  may  perhaps  be  admissible ;  but  as  a  perma 
nency  of  course  is  not  to  be  consider'd  for  a  moment.  (Did  the  vast  mass  of 
the  blacks,  in  Slavery  in  the  United  States,  present  a  terrible  and  deeply  com 
plicated  problem  through  the  just  ending  century  ?  But  how  if  the  mass  of 
the  blacks  in  freedom  in  the  U.  S.  all  through  the  ensuing  century,  should  pre 
sent  a  yet  more  terrible  and  more  deeply  complicated  problem  ?) 

The  conquest  of  England  eight  centuries  ago,  by  the  Franco-Normans— the 
obliteration  of  the  old,  (in  many  respects  so  needing  obliteration)— the  Domes 
day  Book,  and  the  repartition  of  the  land— the  old  impedimenta  removed, 
even  by  blood  and  ruthless  violence,  and  a  new,  progressive  genesis  establish 'd. 
new  seeds  sown— Time  has  proved  plain  enough  that,  bitter  as  they  were,  all 
these  were  the  most  salutary  series  of  revolutions  that  could  possibly  have 
happen'd.  Out  of  them,  and  by  them  mainly,  have  come,  out  of  Albic,  Ro 
man  and  Saxon  England— and  without  them  could  not  have  come— not  only 
the  England  of  the  500  years  down  to  the  present,  and  of  the  present— but 
These  States.  Nor,  except  for  that  terrible  dislocation  and  overturn,  would 
These  States,  as  they  are,  exist  to-day. 

Extricating  one's-self  from  the  temporary  gaucheries  of  the  hour,  can  there 
be  anything  more  certain  than  the  rehabilitated  prosperity  of  the  Southern 
States,  all  and  several,  if  their  growing  generations,  refusing  to  be  dismay'd 
by  present  embarrassments  and  darkness,  accept  their  position  in  the  Union 
as  an  immutable  fact,  and  like  the  Middle  and  Western  States,  "  fly  the  flag 
of  practical  industry  and  business,  and  adopting  the  great  ideas  of 'America 
with  faith  and  courage,  developing  their  resources,  providing  for  education, 
abandoning  old  fictions,  leave  the  Secession  war  and  its  bygones  behind,  and 
resolutely  draw  a  curtain  over  the  past"  ? 

I  want  to  see  the  Southern  States,  in  a  better  sense  than  ever,  and  under  the 
new  dispensation,  again  take  a  leading  part  in  what  is  emphatically  their  Na 
tionality  as  much  as  anybody's.  Soon,  soon,  it  will  begin  to  be  realized  that 
out  of  the  War,  after  all,  they  have  gained  a  more  substantial  victory  than 
anybody. 

Future  History  of  the  United  States ,  growing  out  of  the  War— (My  Speculations.) 
Our  Nation's  ending  Centurv,  thus  far— even  with  the  great  struggle  of  1861 
-'65 — I  do  not  so  much  call  the  History  of  the  United  States.  Rather,  our 
preparation,  or  preface.  As  the  chief  and  permanent  result  of  those  four 
years,  and  the  signal  triumph  of  Nationalism  at  the  end  of  them,  we  now 
commence  that  History  of  the  United  States,  which,  grandly  developing,  ex 
foliating,  stretching  through  the  future,  is  yet  to  be  enacted,  arid  is  only  to  be 
really  written  hundreds  of  years  hence. 

And  of  the  eve nts  of  that  Future— as  well  as  the  Present  and  the  Past,  or 
war  or  peace — have  they  been,  and  will  they  continue  to  be,  (does  any  one 
suppose?)  a  series  of  accidents,  depending  on  either  good  luck  or  bad  luck,  as< 
may  chance  to  turn  out?  Rather,  is  there  not,  behind  all,  some  vast  average, 
sufficiently  definite,  uniform  and  unswervable  Purpose,  in  the  develop 
ment  of  America,  (may  I  not  say  divine  purpose  ?  only  all  is  divine  purpose,) 
which  pursues  its  own  will,  maybe  unconscious  of  itself — of  which  the  puerili 
ties  often  called  history,  are  merely  crude  and  temporary  emanations,  rather 
than  influences  or  causes?  and  of  which  the  justification  is  only  to  be  look'd 
for  in  the  formulations  of  centuries  to  come?  (Let  us  not  be  deceiv'd  by 
flatulent  fleeting  notorieties,  political,  official,  literary  and  other.  In  any  pro 
found,  philosophical  consideration  of  our  politics,  literature,  &c.,  the  best- 
known  names  of  the  day  and  hitherto — the  parties,  and  their  oftenest-named 
leaders— the  great  newspapers  and  magazines— the  authors  and  artists,  and 

editors — even  the  Presidents,  Congresses,  Governors,  &c are  only  so  many 

passing  spears  or  patches  of  grass  on  which  the  cow  feeds.) 

Is  there  not  such  a  thing  as  the  Philosophy  of  American  History  and  Poli 
tics?  And  if  so — what  is  it? Wise  men  say  there  are  two  sets  of  wills  to 

Nations  and  to  persons— one  set  that  acts  and  works  from  explainable  motives 
—from  teaching,  intelligence,  judgment,  circumstance,  caprice,  emulation, 
greed,  &c — and  then  another  set,  perhaps  deep,  hidden,  unsuspected,  yet 
often  more  potent  than  the  first,  refusing  to  be  argued  with,  rising  as  it  were 
out  of  abysses,  resistlessly  urging  on  speakers,  doers,  communities,  Nations, 
unwitting  to  themselves— the  poet  to  his  fieriest  words— the  Race  to  pursue  its 


NOTES.  67 

loftiest  ideal Indeed  the  paradox  of  a  Nation's  life  and  career,  with  all  its 

•wondrous  contradictions,  can  probably  only  be  explain'd  from  these  two  wills, 
sometimes  conflicting,  each  operating  in  its  sphere,  combining  in  races  or  in 
persons,  and  producing  strangest  results. 

Let  us  hope  there  is,  (Indeed,  can  there  be  any  doubt  there  is?)  this  great, 
unconscious  and  abysmic  second  will  also,  running  through  the  average  Na 
tionality  and  career  of  America.  Let  us  hope  that  amid  all  the  dangers  and 
defections  of  the  present,  and  through  all  the  processes  of  the  conscious  will, 
it  alone  is  the  permanent  and  sovereign  force,  destined  to  carry  on  the  New 
World  to  fulfil  its  destinies  in  the  future— to  resolutely  pursue  those  destinies, 
age  upon  age — to  build  far,  far  beyond  its  past  vision,  present  thought — to 
form  and  fashion,  and  for  the  general  type,  Men  and  Women  more  noble,  more 
athletic  than  the  world  has  yet  seen— to  gradually,  firmly  blend,  from  all  The 
States,  with  all  varieties,  a  friendlv,  happy,  free,  religious  Nationality— a  Na 
tionality  not  only  the  richest,  most  inventive,  most  productive  and  materialistic 
the  world  has  yet  known — but  compacted  indissolubly,  and  out  of  whose  ample 
and  solid  bulk,  and  giving  purpose  and  finish  to  it,  Conscience,  Morals,  and 
all  the  Spiritual  attributes,  shall  surely  rise,  like  spires  above  some  group  of 
edifices,  firm-footed  011  the  earth,  yet  scaling  space  and  heaven. 

No  more  considering  the  United  States  as  an  incident,  or  series  of  incidents, 
however  vast,  coming  accidentally  along  the  path  of  Time,  and  shaped  by 
casual  emergencies  as  they  happen  to  arise,  and  the  mere  result  of  modern 
improvements,  vulgar  and  lucky,  ahead  of  other  nations  and  times,  I  would 
finally  plant,  as  seeds,  these  thoughts  or  speculations  in  the  growth  of  our  Re 
public — that  it  is  the  deliberate  culmination  and  result  of  all  the  Past — that 
here  too,  as  in  all  departments  of  the  Universe,  regular  laws,  (slow  and  sure 
in  acting,  slow  and  sure  in  ripening,)  have  controll'd  and  govern'd,  and  will 
yet  control  and  govern— and  that  those  laws  can  no  more  be  Jjaflfled  or  steer'd 
clear  of,  or  vitiated,  by  chance,  or  any  fortune  or  opposition,  than  the  laws  of 
winter  and  summer,  or  darkness  and  light. 

The  old  theory  of  a  given  country  or  age,  or  people,  as  something  isolated 
and  standing  by  itsi'lf — something  which  only  fulfils  its  luck,  eventful  or  un 
eventful — or  perhaps  some  meteor,  brilliantly  flashing  on  the  background  or 
foreground  of  Time — is  indeed  no  longer  advanced  among  competent  minds, 
as  a  theory  for  History— has  been  supplanted  by  theories  far  wider  and  higher. 

The  development  of  a  Nation — of  the  American  Republic,  for  instance, 

with  all  its  episodes  of  peace  and  war— the  events  of  the  past,  and  the  facts  of 
the  present — aye,  the  entire  political  and  intellectual  processes  of  our  common 
race — if  beheld  from  a  point  of  view  sufficiently  comprehensive,  would  doubt 
less  exhibit  the  same  regularity  of  order  and  exactness,  and  the  same  plan  of 
cause  and  effect,  as  the  crops  in  the  ground,  or  the  rising  and  setting  of  the 
stars. 

Great  as  they  are,  therefore,  and  greater  far  to  be,  the  United  States  too  are 
but  a  series  of  steps  in  the  eternal  process  of  creative  thought.  And  here  is  to 
my  mind  their  final  justification,  and  certain  perpetuity.  There  is  in  that 
sublime  process,  in  the  laws  of  the  Universe— and,  above  all,  in  the  moral  law 
— something  that  would  make  unsatisfactory,  and  even  vain  and  contemptible, 
all  the  triumphs  of  war,  the  gains  of  peace,  and  the  proudest  worldly  grandeur 
of  all  the  Nations  that  have  ever  existed,  or  that,  (ours  included,)  now  exist, 
except  that  we  constantly  see,  through  all  their  worldly  career,  however 
struggling  and  blind  and  lame,  attempts,  by  all  ages,  all  peoples,  according  to 
their  development,  to  reach,  to  press,  to  progress  on,  and  farther  on,  to  more 
and  more  advanced  ideals. 

The  glory  of  the  Republic  of  The  United  States,  in  my  opinion,  is  to  be,  that, 
emerging  in  the  light  of  the  Modern  and  the  splendor  of  Science,  and  solidly 
based  on  the  past,  it  is  to  cheerfully  range  itself,  and  its  politics  are  henceforth 
to  come,  under  those  universal  laws,  and  embody  them,  and  carry  them  out  to 
serve  them And  as  only  that  individual  becomes  truly  great  who  under 
stands  well  that,  (while  complete  in  himself  in  a  certain  sense,)  he  is  but  a 
part  of  the  divine,  eternal  scheme,  and  whose  special  life  and  laws  are  adjust 
ed  to  move  in  harmonious  relations  with  the  general  laws  of  Nature,  and 
especially  with  the  moral  law,  the  deepest  and  highest  of  all,  and  the  last 
vitality  of  Man  or  State— so  those  Nations,  and  so  the  United  States,  may  only 
become  the  greatest  and  the  most  continuous,  by  understanding  well  their 
harmonious  relations  with  entire  Humanity  and  History,  and  all  their  laws  and 
progress,  and  sublimed  with  the  creative  thought  of  Deity,  through  all  time, 
past,  present  and  future.  Thus  will  they  expand  to  the  amplitude  of  their 
destiny,  and  become  splendid  illustrations  and  culminating  parts  of  the  Kos- 
mos,  and  of  Civilization. 

Are  not  these— or  something  like  these— the  simple,  perennial  Truths  now 
presented  to  the  Future  of  the  United  States,  out  of  all  its  Past,  of  war  and 


68  NOTES. 

peace  ?  Has  not  the  time  come  for  working  them  in  the  tissue  of  the  coming 
History  and  Politics  of  The  States?  And,  (as  gold  and  silver  are  cast  into 
small  coin,)  are  not,  for  their  elucidation,  entirely  new  classes  of  men,  uncom 
mitted  to  the  past,  fusing  The  Whole  Country,  adjusted  to  its  conditions,  pre 
sent  and  to  come,  imperatively  required,  Seaboard  and  Interior,  North  and 
South?  and  must  not  such  classes  begin  to  arise,  and  be  emblematic  of  our 
New  Politics  and  our  real  Nationality  ? 

Now.  and  henceforth,  and  out  of  the  conditions,  the  results  of  the  War,  of 
all  the 'experiences  of  the  past— demanding  to  be  rigidly  construed  with  refer 
ence  to  the  whole  Union,  not  for  a  week  or  year,  but  immense  cycles  of  time, 
come  crowding  and  gathering  in  presence  ot  America,  like  veil 'd  giants,  origi 
nal,  native,  larger  questions,  possibilities,  problems,  than  ever  before.  To-day, 
I  say,  the  evolution  of  The  United  States,  (South,  and  Atlantic  Seaboard, 
and  especially  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  the  Pacific  slope,)  coincident 
with  these  thoughts  and  problems,  and  their  own  vitality  and  amplitude,  and 
winding  steadily  along  through  the  unseen  vistas  of  the  future,  affords  the 
greatest  moral  and  political  work  in  all  the  so-far  progress  of  Humanity.  And 
fortunately,  to-day,  after  the  experiments  and  warnings  of  a  hundred  years, 
we  can  pause  and  consider  and  provide  for  these  problems,  under  more  pro 
pitious  circumstances,  and  new  and  native  lights,  and  precious  even  if  costly 
experiences — with  more  political  and  material  advantages  to  illumine  and 
solve  them— than  were  ever  hitherto  possess'd  by  a  Nation. 

Yes :  The  summing-up  of  the  tremendous  moral  and  military  perturbations 
of  1861-'65,  and  their  results— and  indeed  of  the  entire  hundred  years  of  the 
past  of  our  National  experiment,  from  its  inchoate  movement  down  to  the 
present  day,  (1775-1876)— is,  that  they  all  now  launch  The  United  States  fairly 
forth,  consistently  with  the  entirety  of  Civilization  and  Humanity,  and  in 
main  sort  the  representative  of  them,  leading  the  van,  leading  the  fleet  of  the 
Modern  and  Democratic,  on  the  seas  and  voyages  of  the  Future. 

And  the  real  History  of  the  United  States— starting  from  that  great  convul 
sive  struggle  for  Unity,  triumphantly  concluded,  and  the  South  victorious, 
after  all — is  only  to  be  written  at  the  remove  of  hundreds,  perhaps  a  thousand, 
years  hence. 


PASSAGE 

to 


INDIA 


Gliding  o'er  all,  through  all, 
Through  Nature,  Time,  and  Space, 
As  a  Ship  on  the  waters  advancing, 
The  Voyage  of  the  Soul — 7202!  Life  alone, 
Death — many  Deaths,  I  sing. 


^ntered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

WALT  WHITMAN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Eltctrotyped  by  SMITH  £  McDoucAL,  82  Beekman  Street,  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Passage  to  India 5 

Thought 16 

O  Living  Always— Always  Dying. 18 

Proud  Music  of  The  Storm 17 

ASHES  OF  SOLDIERS.          » 

Ashes  of  Soldiers 25 

In  Midnight  Sleep 27 

Camps  of  Green 28 

To  a  Certain  Civilian 29 

Pensive  on  Her  Dead  Gazing,  I  Heard  the  Mother  of  All 29 

PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  BURIAL  HYMN. 

When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Door-yard  Bloom'd 31 

OCaptain!  MyCaptain! 41 

Hush'd  be  the  Camps  To-day 42 

This  Dust  was  Once  the  Man 42 

Poem  of  Joys 43 

To  Think  of  Time 53 

Chanting  the  Square  Deific GO 

WHISPERS  OF  HEAVENLY  DEATH. 

Whispers  of  Heavenly  Death 63 

Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul 64 

Of  Him  I  Love  Day  and  Night 64 

Assurances 65 

Yet,  Yet,  Ye  Downcast  Hours •. 66 

Quicksand  Years 67 

That  Music  Always  Round  Me 67 

As  if  a  Phantom  Caress'd  Me 68 

Here,  Sailor 68 

A  Noiseless  Patient  Spider 69 

The  Last  Invocation 69 

As  I  Watch'd  the  Ploughman  Ploughing 70 

Pensive  and  Faltering 70 

SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES. 

Out  of  the  Cradle  Endlessly  Rocking 71 

Elemental  Drifts 78 

Tears 82 

Aboard  at  a  Ship's  Helm 82 

On  the  Beach  at  Night 83 

The  World  Below  the  Brine 84 

On  the  Beach  at  Night,  Alone , . , , 85 


iv  CONTENTS. 

LEAVES  OF  GRASS.  PAGE 

A  Carol  of  Harvest  for  18G7 87 

The  Singer  in  the  Prison 94 

Warble  for  Lilac-Time 96 

Who  Learns  My  Lesson  Complete  ? 98 

Thought 99 

Myself  and  Mine 100 

To  Old  Age 101 

Miracles 102 

Sparkles  from  The  Wheel 103 

Excelsior 104 

Mediums 105 

Kosmos 106 

To  a  Pupil 106 

What  am  I,  After  All? 107 

Others  may  Praise  what  They  Like 107 

Brother  of  All,  with  Generous  Hand 108 

Night  on  The  Prairies Ill 

On  Journeys  Through  The  States 112 

Savantism , 113 

Locations  and  Times 113 

Thought 113 

Offerings 113 

Tests 114 

The  Torch f 114 

To  You 114 

Gods 115 

To  One  Shortly  to  Die 116 

Now  FINALE  TO  THE  SHORE. 

Now  Finale  to  the  Shore 117 

Shut  Not  Your  Doors,  &c 117 

Thought . .  us 

The  TJntold  Want 118 

Portals 119 

These  Carols 119 

This  Day,  O  Soul .  119 

What  Place  is  Besieged  ? 119 

To  the  Reader,  at  Parting 120 

Joy,  Shipmate,  Joy  1 120 


PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


1  SINGING  my  days, 

Singing  the  great  achievements  of  the  present, 

Singing  the  strong,  light  works  of  engineers, 

Our  modern  wonders,  (the  antique  ponderous  Seven 

outvied,) 

In  the  Old  World,  the  east,  the  Suez  canal, 
The  New  by  its  mighty  railroad  spann'd, 
The  seas  inlaid  with  eloquent,  gentle  wires, 

1  sound,  to  commence,  the  cry,  with  thee,  O  soul, 
The  Past !  the  Past !  the  Past ! 

2  The  Past !  the  dark,  unfathom'd  retrospect ! 
The  teeming  gulf  !  the  sleepers  and  the  shadows ! 
The  past !  the  infinite  greatness  of  the  past ! 

For  what  is  the  present,  after  all,  but  a  growth  out  of 

the  past  ? 
(As  a  projectile,  form'd,  impell'd,  passing  a  certain  line, 

still  keeps  on, 
So  the  present,  utterly  form'd,  impell'd  by  the  past.) 


3  Passage,  O  soul,  to  India ! 

Eclaircise  the  myths  Asiatic — the  primitive  fables. 

4  Not  you  alone,  proud  truths  of  the  world ! 
Nor  you  alone,  ye  facts  of  modern  science ! 

But  myths  and  fables  of  eld — Asia's,  Africa's  fables  i 


6  LEAVES  OF  GRASS. 

The   far-darting   beams   of   the   spirit! — the   unloos'd 

dreams ! 

The  deep  diving  bibles  and  legends  ; 
The  daring  plots  of  the  poets — the  elder  religions  ; 
— O  you  temples  fairer  than  lilies,  pour'd  over  by  the 

rising  sun ! 
O  you  fables,  spurning  the  known,  eluding  the  hold  of 

the  known,  mounting  to  heaven ! 
You  lofty  and  dazzling  towers,  pinnacled,  red  as  roses, 

burnish'd  with  gold ! 
Towers    of    fables    immortal,   fashion'd    from    mortal 

dreams ! 

You  too  I  welcome,  and  fully,  the  same  as  the  rest ; 
You  too  with  joy  I  sing. 


5  Passage  to  India ! 

Lo,  soul"!  seest  thou  not  God's  purpose  from  the  first  ? 
The  earth  to  be  spann'd,  connected  by  net-work, 
The  people  to  become  brothers  and  sisters, 
The  races,  neighbors,  to  marry  and  be  given  in  mar 
riage, 

The  oceans  to  be  cross'd,  the  distant  brought  near, 
The  lands  to  be  welded  together. 

6  (A  worship  new,  I  sing  ; 

You  captains,  voyagers,  explorers,  yours ! 

You  engineers  !  you  architects,  machinists,  yours  ! 

You,  not  for  trade  or  transportation  only, 

But  in  God's  name,  and  for  thy  sake,  O  soul.) 


7  Passage  to  India ! 
Lo,  soul,  for  thee,  of  tableaus  twain, 
I  see,  in  one,  the  Suez  canal  initiated,  open'd, 
I  see  the  procession  of  steamships,  the  Empress  Euge 
nie's  leading  the  van  ; 

I  mark,  from  on  deck,  the  strange  landscape,  the  pure 
sky,  the  level  sand  in  the  distance  ; 


PASSAGE  TO  IKDIA.  7 

I  pass  swiftly  the  picturesque   groups,  the  workmen 

gather'd, 
The  gigantic  dredging  machines. 

8  In  one,  again,  different,  (yet  thine,  all  thine,  O  soul, 

the  same,) 

I  see  over  my  own  continent  the  Pacific  Railroad,  sur 
mounting  every  barrier  ; 

I  see  continual  trains  of  cars  winding  along  the  Platte, 
carrying  freight  and  passengers  ; 

I  hear  the  locomotives  rushing  and  roaring,  and  the 
shrill  steam- whistle,  . 

I  hear  the  echoes  reverberate  through  the  grandest 
scenery  in  the  world  ; 

I  cross  the  Laramie  plains — I  note  the  rocks  in  gro 
tesque  shapes — the  buttes  ; 

I  see  the  plentiful  larkspur  and  wild  onions — the  bar 
ren,  colorless,  sage-deserts  ; 

I  see  in  glimpses  afar,  or  towering  immediately  above 
me,  the  great  mountains — I  see  the  Wind  River 
and  the  Wahsatch  mountains  ; 

I  see  the  Monument  mountain  and  the  Eagle's  Nest — 
I  pass  the  Promontory — I  ascend  the  Nevadas  ; 

I  scan  the  noble  Elk  mountain,  and  wind  around  its 
base  ; 

I  see  the  Hurnboldt  range — I  thread  the  valley  and 
cross  the  river, 

I  see  the  clear  waters  of  Lake  Tahoe — I  see  forests  of 
majestic  pines, 

Or,  crossing  the  great  desert,  the  alkaline  plains,  I  be 
hold  enchanting  mirages  of  waters  and  meadows  ; 

Marking  through  these,  and  after  all,  in  duplicate  slen 
der  lines, 

Bridging  the  three  or  four  thousand  miles  of  land 
travel, 

Tying  the  Eastern  to  the  Western  sea, 

The  road  between  Europe  and  Asia. 

9  (Ah  Genoese,  thy  dream  !  thy  dream  ! 
Centuries  after  thou  art  laid  in  thy  grave, 
The  shore  thou  foundest  verifies  thy  dream !) 


8  LEAVES  OF  GKASS 

5 

10  Passage  to  India  ! 

Struggles  of  many  a  captain — tales  of  many  a  sailor 

1  i    i  * 

dead.! 

Over  my  mood,  stealing  and  spreading  they  come, 
Like  clouds  and  cloudlets  in  the  unreach'd  sky. 

11  Along  all  history,  down  the  slopes, 

As  a  rivulet  running,  sinking  now,  and  now  again  to 

the  surface  rising, 
A  ceaseless  thought,  a  varied  train — Lo,  soul !  to  thee, 

thy  sight,  they  rise, 

The  plans,  the  voyages  again,  the  expeditions  : 
Again  Yasco  de  Gama  sails  forth  ; 
Again  the  knowledge  gain'd,  the  mariner's  compass, 
Lands  found,  and  nations  born — thou  born,  America, 

(a  hemisphere  unborn,) 

For  purpose  vast,  man's  long  probation  fill'd, 
Thou,  rondure  of  the  world,  at  last  accomplish'd. 

6 

12  O,  vast  Rondure,  swimming  in  space  < 
Cover'd  all  over  with  visible  power  and  beauty  ! 
Alternate  light  and   day,    and   the   teeming,   spiritual 

darkness  ; 

Unspeakable,  high  processions  of  sun  and  moon,  and 
countless  stars,  above  •; 

Below,  the  manifold  grass  and  waters,  animals,  moun 
tains,  trees ; 

"With  inscrutable  purpose — some  hidden,  prophetic 
intention  ; 

Now,  first,  it  seems,  my  thought  begins  to  span  thec. 

13  Down  from  the  gardens  of  Asia,  descending,  radiat 

ing, 

Adam  and  Eve  appear,  then  their  myriad  progeny  after 
them, 

Wandering,  yearning,  curious — with  restless  explo 
rations, 


PASSAGE  TO  INDIA.  9 

With,   questionings,   baffled,    formless,    feverish — with 

never-happy  hearts, 
"With  that  sad,  incessant  refrain,  Wherefore,    unsatisfied 

Soul?   and,  Wliither,  0  mocking  Life  ? 

11  Ah,  who  shall  soothe  these  feverish  children  ? 

Who  justify  these  restless  explorations  ? 

Wlio  speak  the  secret  of  impassive  Earth  ? 

Who  bind  it  to  us  ?     What  is  this  separate  Nature,  so 

unnatural? 
What  is  this  Earth,  to  our  affections  ?  (unloving  earth, 

without  a  throb  to  answer  ours  ; 
Cold  earth,  the  place  of  graves.) 

15  Yet,  soul,  be  sure  the  first  intent  remains — and  shall 

be  carried  out ; 
(Perhaps  even  now  the  time  has  arrived.) 

18  After  the  seas  are  all  cross'd,  (as  they  seem  already 

cross'd, ) 
After  the  great  captains  and  engineers  have  accomplish'd 

their  work, 
After   the    noble   inventors — after  the    scientists,    the 

chemist,  the  geologist,  ethnologist, 
Finally  shall  come  the  Poet,  worthy  that  name  ; 
The  true  Son  of  God  shall  come,  singing  his  songs. 

17  Then,  not  your  deeds  only,  O  voyagers,  O  scientists 

and  inventors,  shall  be  justified, 

All  these  hearts,  as  of  fretted  children,  shall  be  sooth' d, 
All  affection  shall   be   fully  responded  to — the  secret 

shall  be  told  ; 
All  these  separations  and  gaps  shall  be  taken  up,  and 

hook'd  and  link'd  together  ; 
The  whole  Earth — this  cold,  impassive,  voiceless  Earth, 

shall  be  completely  justified  ; 
Trinitas   divine    shall  be   gloriously   accomplish'd  and 

compacted  by  the  true  Son  of  God,  the  poet, 
(He   shall  indeed  pass   the    straits  and   conquer  the 

mountains, 


10  LEAYES  OF  GRASS. 

He  shall  double  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  some  pur-  - 

pose ;) 

Nature  and  Man  shall  be  disjoin'd  and  diffused  no  more, 
The  true  Son  of  God  shall  absolutely  fuse  them. 

7 

8  Year  at  whose  open'd,  wide-flung  door  I  sing ! 
Year  of  the  purpose  accomplish'd  ! 
Year    of    the   marriage   of    continents,    climates    and 

oceans! 

(No  mere  Doge  of  Venice  now,  wedding  the  Adriatic  ;) 
I  see,  O  year,  in  you,  the  vast  terraqueous  globe,  given, 

and  giving  all, 
Europe   to  Asia,   Africa  join'd,   and  they  to  the  New 

World ; 
The  lands,  geographies,  dancing  before  you,  holding  a 

festival  garland, 
As  brides  and  bridegrooms  hand  in  hand. 

8 

19  Passage  to  India ! 

Cooling  airs  from  Caucasus  far,  soothing  cradle  of  man, 
The  river  Euphrates  flowing,  the  past  lit  up  again. 

20  Lo,  soul,  the  retrospect,  brought  forward  ; 

The  old,  most  populous,  wealthiest  of  Earth's  lands, 
The  streams  of  the  Indus  and  the  Ganges,  and  their 

many  affluents ; 

(I,  my  shores  of  America  waiting  to-day,  behold,  resum 
ing  all,) 
The  tale  of  Alexander,  on  his  warlike  marches,  suddenly 

dying, 
On  one  side  China,  and  on  the  other  side  Persia  and 

Arabia, 

To  the  south  the  great  seas,  and  the  Bay  of  Bengal ; 
The  flowing   literatures,   tremendous   epics,   religions, 

castes, 
Old  occult  Brahma,   interminably  far  back — the  tender 

and  junior  Buddha, 
Central  and  southern  empires,  and  all  their  belongings, 

possessors, 


PASSAGE  TO  II<DIA.  11 

The  wars  of  Tamerlane,  the  reign  of  Aurungzebe, 

The    traders,    rulers,    explorers,    Moslems,    Venetians, 

Byzantium,  the  Arabs,  Portuguese, 
The   first  travelers,   famous  yet,  Marco  Polo,  Batouta 

the  Moor, 
Doubts  to   be  solv'd,  the  map  incognita,  blanks  to  be 

fiira, 

The  foot  of  man  unstay'd,  the  hands  never  at  rest, 
Thyself,  O  soul,  that  will  not  brook  a  challenge. 


21  The  medieval  navigators  rise  before  me, 

The  world  of  1492,  with  its  awaken'd  enterprise  ; 
Something  swelling  in  humanity  now  like  the  sap  of 

the  earth  in  spring, 
The  sunset  splendor  of  chivalry  declining. 

22  And  who  art  thou,  sad  shade  ? 
Gigantic,  visionary,  thyself  a  visionary, 
With  majestic  limbs,  and  pious,  beaming  eyes, 
Spreading  around,  with  every  look  of  thine,  a  golden 

world, 
Enhuing  it  with  gorgeous  hues. 

23  As  the  chief  histrion, 

Down  to  the  footlights  walks,  in  some  great  scena, 

Dominating  the  rest,  I  see  the  Admiral  himself, 

(History's  type  of  courage,  action,  faith  ;) 

Behold  him  sail  from  Palos,  leading  his  little  fleet ; 

His  voyage  behold — his  return — his  great  fame, 

His  misfortunes,  calumniators — behold  him  a  prisoner, 

chain'd, 
Behold  his  dejection,  poverty,  death. 

*4  (Curious,   in   time,   I   stand,  noting    the    efforts   of 

heroes  ; 
Is  the  deferment  long?  bitter  the  slander,  poverty, 

death  ? 
Lies  the  seed  unreck'd  for  centuries  in  the  ground? 

Lo  !  to  God's  due  occasion, 


12  LEAVES  or  GBASS. 

Uprising  in  the  night,  it  sprouts,  blooms, 
And  fills  the  earth  with  use  and  beauty.) 

10 

25  Passage  indeed,  O  soul,  to  primal  thought ! 
Not  lands  and  seas  alone — thy  own  clear  freshness, 
The  young  maturity  of  brood  and  bloom  ; 
To  realms  of  budding  bibles. 

25  O  soul,  repressless,  I  with  thee,  and  thou  with  me, 

Thy  circumnavigation  of  the  world  begin  ; 

Of  man,  the  voyage  of  his  mind's  return, 

To  reason's  early  paradise, 

Back,  back  to  wisdom's  birth,  to  innocent  intuitions, 

Again  with  fair  Creation. 

11 

27  O  we  can  wait  no  longer  ! 
We  too  take  ship,  O  soul ! 

Joyous,  we  too  launch  out  on  trackless  seas ! 
Fearless,  for  unknown  shores,  on  waves  of  extasy  to 

sail, 
Amid  the  wafting  winds,  (bhou  pressing  me  to  thee,  I 

thee  to  me,  O  soul,) 

Caroling  free — singing  our  song  of  God, 
Chanting  our  chant  of  pleasant  exploration. 

28  With  laugh,  and  many  a  kiss, 

(Let  others  deprecate — let  others  weep  for  sin,  remorse, 

humiliation  ;) 
O  soul,  thou  pleasest  me — I  thee. 

29  Ah,  more  than  any  priest,  O  soul,  we  too  believe  in 

God; 
But  with  the  mystery  of  God  we  dare  not  dally. 

30  O  soul,  thou  pleasest  me — I  thee  ; 

Sailing  these  seas,  or  on  the  hills,  or  waking  in  the 
night, 


PASSAGE  TO  INDIA.  13 

Thoughts,   silent  thoughts,   of  Time,   and  Space,   and 

Death,  like  waters  flowing, 

Bear  me,  indeed,  as  through  the  regions  infinite, 
Whose  air  I  breathe,  whose  rippled  hear — lave  me  all 

over  ; 

Bathe  me,  O  God,  in  thee — mounting  to  thee, 
I  and  my  soul  to  range  in  range  of  thee. 

31  O  Thou  transcendant ! 
Nameless — the  fibre  and  the  breath  ! 

Light  of  the  light — shedding  forth  universes — thou 
centre  of  them  ! 

Thou  mightier  centre  of  the  true,  the  good,  the  loving ! 

Thou  moral,  spiritual  fountain!  affection's  source  !  thou 
reservoir ! 

(0  pensive  soul  of  me !  O  thirst  unsatisfied !  waitest  not 
there  ? 

Waitest  not  haply  for  us,  somewhere  there,  the  Com 
rade  perfect  ?) 

Thou  pulse  !  thou  motive  of  the  stars,  suns,  systems, 

That,  circling,  move  in  order,  safe,  harmonious, 

Athwart  the  shapeless  vastnesses  of  space  ! 

How  should  I  think— how  breathe  a  single  breath — 
how  speak — if,  out  of  myself, 

I  could  not  launch,  to  those,  superior  universes  ? 

32  Swiftly  I  shrivel  at  the  thought  of  God, 

At  Nature  and  its  wonders,  Time  and  Space  and  Death, 
But  that  I,  turning,  call  to  thee,  O  soul,  thou  actual  Me, 
And  lo  !  thou  gently  masterest  the  orbs, 
Thou  matest  Time,  smilest  content  at  Death, 
And  fillest,  swellest  full,  the  vastnesses  of  Space. 

03  Greater  than  stars  or  suns, 
Bounding,  O  soul,  thou  journeyest  forth  ; 
—What  love,  than  thine  and  ours  could  wider  amplify? 
What  aspirations,  wishes,  outvie  thine  and  ours,  O  soul? 
What  dreams  of  the  ideal  ?  what  plans  of  purity,  per 
fection,  strength  ? ' 


14  LEAVES  OF  GKASS. 

What  cheerful  willingness,  for  others'  sake,  to  give  up 

all? 
For  others'  sake  to  suffer  all  ? 

31  Reckoning    ahead,   O    soul,   when    thou,    the    time 

achiev'd, 
(The  seas  all  cross'd,  weather'd  the  capes,  the  voyage 

done,) 
Surrounded,   copest,  frontest   God,   yieldest,  the   aim 

attain'd, 
As,  fill'd    with   friendship,   love   complete,  the   Elder 

Brother  found, 
The  Younger  melts  in  fondness  in  his  arms. 


12 

35  Passage  to  more  than  India  ! 

Are  thy  wings  plumed  indeed  for  such  far  flights  ? 
O  Soul,  voyagest  thou  indeed  on  voyages  like  these  ? 
Disportest  thou  on  waters  such  as  these  ? 
Soundest  below  the  Sanscrit  and  the  Vedas  ? 
Then  have  thy  bent  unleash'd. 

36  Passage  to  you,  your  shores,  ye  aged  fierce  enigmas ! 
Passage  to  you,  to  mastership  of  you,  ye  strangling 

problems ! 

You,  strew'd  with  the  wrecks  of  skeletons,  that,  living, 
never  reach'd  you. 

13 

37  Passage  to  more  than  India  I 
O  secret  of  the  earth  and  sky  ! 

Of  you,  O  waters  of  the  sea !  O  winding  creeks  and 

rivers ! 
Of  you,  O  woods  and  fields  !  Of  you,  strong  mountains 

of  my  land ! 

Of  you,  O  prairies  !  Of  you,  gray  rocks  ! 
O  morning  red  !  O  clouds  !  O  "rain  and  snows  ! 
O  day  and  night,  passage  to  you  ! 


PASSAGE  TO  INDIA.  15 

38  O  sun  and   moon,  and   all   you  stars !     Sirius  and 

Jupiter ! 
Passage  to  you ! 

39  Passage — immediate  passage  !  the  blood  burns  in  my 

veins ! 

Away,  O  soul !  hoist  instantly  the  anchor  ! 
Cut  the  hawsers — haul  out — shake  out  every  sail ! 
Have  we  not  stood  here  like  trees  in  the  ground  long 

enough  ? 
Have  we  not  grovell'd  here  long  enough,  eating  and 

drinking  like  mere  brutes  ? 
Have  we  not  darken'd  and  dazed  ourselves  with  books 

long  enough  ? 

40  Sail  forth  !  steer  for  the  deep  waters  only ! 
Eeckless,  O  soul,  exploring,  I  with  thee,  and  thou  with 

me  ; 
For  we  are  bound  where  mariner  has  not  yet  dared  to 

go, 
And  we  will  risk  the  ship,  ourselves  and  all. 

41  O  my  brave  soul ! 

O  farther,  farther  sail ! 

O  daring  joy,  but  safe  !     Are  they  not  all  the  seas  of 

God? 
0  farther,  farther,  farther  sail ! 


18  LEAVES  OF  GRASS. 


THOUGHT. 

As  I  sit  with  others,  at  a  great  'feast,  suddenly,  while 

the  music  is  playing, 
To  my  mind,  (whence  it  comes  I  know  not,)  spectral,  in 

mist,  of  a  wreck  at  sea  ; 
Of  certain  ships — how  they  sail  from  port  with  flying 

streamers,  and  wafted  kisses — and  that  is  the 

last  of  them ! 
Of  the  solemn  and  murky  mystery  about  the  fate  of  the 

President ; 
Of  the  flower  of  the  marine  science  of  fifty  generations, 

founder'd   off  the   Northeast  coast,   and   going- 
down — Of  the  steamship  Arctic  going  down, 
Of  the  veil'd  tableau — "Women   gathered   together  on 

deck,   pale,    heroic,   waiting    the  moment    that 

draws  so  close — 0  the  moment ! 
A  huge  sob — A  few  bubbles — the  white  foam  spirting 

up — And  then  the  women  gone, 
Sinking  there,  while  the  passionless  wet  flows  on — And 

I  now  pondering,  Are  those  women  indeed  gone  ? 
Are  Souls  drown'd  and  destroy'd  so  ? 
Is  only  matter  triumphant  ? 


O  LIVING  ALWAYS — ALWAYS   DYING! 

O  LIVING  always — always  dying  ! 

O  the  burials  of  me,  past  and  present ! 

O  me,  while  I  stride  ahead,  material,  visible,  imperious 

as  ever ! 
O  me,  what  I  was  for  years,  now  dead,  (I  lament  not — 

I  am  content ;) 
O  to  disengage  myself  from  those  corpses  of  me,  which 

I  turn  and  look  at,  where  I  cast  them  ! 
To  pass  on,  (O  living !   always  living !)    and  leave  the 

corpses  behind ! 


PROUD  Music  OF  THE  STORM. 


1  PKOUD  music  of  the  storm ! 

Blast  that  careers  so  free,  whistling  across  the  prairies ! 

Strong  hum  of  forest  tree-tops !  Wind  of  the  moun 
tains  ! 

Personified  dim  shapes  !  you  hidden  orchestras ! 

You  serenades  of  phantoms,  with  instruments  alert, 

Blending,  with  Nature's  rhythmus,  all  the  tongues  of 
nations  ; 

You  chords  left  as  by  vast  composers !  you  choruses ! 

You  formless,  free,  religious  dances !  you  from  the 
Orient! 

You  undertone  of  rivers,  roar  of  pouring  cataracts  ; 

You  sounds  from  distant  guns,  with  galloping  cavalry ! 

Echoes  of  camps,  with  all  the  different  bugle-calls ! 

Trooping  tumultuous,  filling  the  midnight  late,  bending 
me  powerless, 

Entering  my  lonesome  slumber-chamber — Why  have 
you  seiz'd  me  ? 

2 

2  Come  forward,  O  my  Soul,  and  let  the  rest  retire  ; 
Listen — lose  not — it  is  toward  thee  they  tend  ; 
Parting  the  midnight,  entering  my  slumber-chamber, 
For  thee  they  sing  and  dance,  O  Soul. 


18  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

3  A  festival  song ! 

The  duet  or  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride — a  marriage- 
march, 

With  lips  of  love,  and  hearts  of  lovers,  fill'd  to  the  brim 
with  love  ; 

The  red-flush'd  cheeks,  and  perfumes — the  cortege 
swarming,  full  of  friendly  faces,  young  and  old, 

To  flutes'  clear  notes,  and  sounding  harps'  cantabile. 


4  Now  loud  approaching  drums ! 

Victoria  !  see'st  thou  in  powder-smoke  the  banners  torn 

but  flying  ?  the  rout  of  the  baffled  ? 
Hearest  those  shouts  of  a  conquering  army  ? 

5  (Ah,  Soul,  the  sobs  of  women — the  wrounded  groaning 

in  agony, 
The  hiss  and  crackle  of  flames — the  black en'd  ruins — 

the  embers  of  cities, 
The  dirge  and  desolation  of  mankind.) 

4' 

6  Now  airs  antique  and  medieval  fill  me ! 

I  see  and  hear  old  harpers  with  their  harps,  at  Welsh 

festivals  : 

I  hear  the  minnesingers,  singing  their  lays  of  Jove, 
I  hear  the  minstrels,  gleemen,  troubadours,  of  the  feudal 

a2*es. 


7  Now  the  great  organ  sounds, 

Tremulous — while  underneath,  (as  the  hid  footholds  of 

the  earth, 

On  which  arising,  rest,  and  leaping  forth,  depend, 
All  shapes  of  beauty,  grace  and  strength — all  hues  we 

know, 
Green  blades  of  grass,  and  warbling  birds — children 

that  gambol   and  play — the  clouds   of  heaven 

above,) 


PROUD  Music  OF  THE  STORM.  19 

The  strong  base  stands,  and  its  pulsations  intermits 

not, 
Bathing,  supporting,  merging  all  the  rest — maternity 

of  all  the  rest ; 

And  with  it  every  instrument  in  multitudes, 
The  players  playing — all  the  world's  musicians, 
The  solemn  hymns  and  masses,  rousing  adoration, 
All  passionate  heart-chants,  sorrowful  appeals, 
The  measureless  sweet  vocalists  of  ages, 
And  for  their  solvent  setting,  Earth's  own  diapason, 
Of  winds  and  woods  and  mighty  ocean  waves  ; 
A  new  composite  orchestra — binder  of  years  and  climes 

— ten-fold  renewer, 

As  of  the  far-back  days  the  poets  tell — the  Paradiso, 
The  straying  thence,  the  separation  long,  but  now  the 

wandering  done, 

The  journey  done,  the  Journeyman  come  home, 
And  Man  and  Art  with  Nature  fused  again. 

6 

8  Tutti !  for  Earth  and  Heaven  ! 

The  Almighty  Leader  now  for  me,  for  once,  has  signal'd 
with  his  wand. 

9  The  manly  strophe  of  the  husbands  of  the  world, 
And  all  the  wives  responding. 

10  The  tongues  of  violins  ! 

(I  think,  O  tongues,  ye  tell  this  heart,  that  cannot  tell 

itself  ; 
This  brooding,  yearning  heart,  that  cannot  tell  itself.) 


11  Ah,  from  a  little  child, 

Thou  knowest,   Soul,  how  to  me  all  sounds   became 

music  ; 

My  mother's  voice,  in  lullaby  or  hymn  ; 
(T^he  voice — O  tender  voices — memory's  loving  voices  ! 
Last  miracle  of  all— O  dearest  mother's,  sister's,  voices;) 


20  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

The   rain,  the   growing  corn,  fhe  breeze   among   the 

long-leav'd  corn, 

The  measur'd  sea-surf,  beating  on  the  sand, 
The  twittering  bird,  the  hawk's  sharp  scream, 
The  wild-fowl's  notes  at  night,  as  flying  low,  migrating 

north  or  south, 
The  psalm  in  the  country  church,  or  mid  the  clustering 

trees,  the  open  air  camp-meeting, 
The  fiddler  in  the  tavern — the  glee,  the   long-strung 

sailor-song, 
The  lowing  cattle,  bleating  sheep — the  crowing  cock  at 

dawn. 

8 

12  All  songs  of  current  lands  come  sounding  'round  me, 
The  German  airs  of  friendship,  wine  and  love, 

Irish  ballads,  merry  jigs  and  dances — English  warbles, 
Chansons  of  France,  Scotch  tunes — and  o'er  the  rest, 
Italia's  peerless  compositions. 

13  Across  the  stage,  with  pallor  on  her  face,  yet  lurid 

passion, 
Stalks  Norma,  brandishing  the  dagger  in  her  hand. 

14  I  see  poor  crazed  Lucia's  eyes'  unnatural  gleam  ; 
Her  hair  down  her  back  falls  loose  and  dishevell'd. 

15  I  see  where  Ernani,  walking  the  bridal  garden, 
Amid  the  scent  of   night-roses,  radiant,   holding   his 

bride  by  the  hand, 
Hears  the  infernal  call,  the  death-pledge  of  the  horn. 

6  To  crossing  swords,  and  grey  hairs  bared  to  heaven, 
The  clear,  electric  base  and  baritone  of  the  world, 
The  trombone  duo — Libertad  forever  ! 

17  From  Spanish  chestnut  trees'  dense  shade, 

By  old  and  heavy  convent  walls,  a  wailing  song, 

Song  of  lost  love — the  torch  of  youth  and  life  quench'd 

in  despair, 
Song  of  the  dying  swan — Fernando 's  heart  is  breaking. 


PEOUD  Music  OF  THE  STORM.  21 

18  Awaking  from  her  woes  at  last,  retrieved  Amina 
sings  ; 

Copious  as  stars,  and  glad  as  morning  light,  the  tor 
rents  of  her  joy. 

9  (The  teeming  lady  comes  ! 
The     lustrous    orb — Yenus    contralto — the    blooming 

mother, 
Sister  of  loftiest  gods — Alboni's  self  I  hear.) 

9 

50  I  hear  those  odes,  symphonies,  operas  ; 

I  hear  in  the  William  Tell,  the  music  of  an  arous'd  and 

angry  people  ; 

I  hear  Meyerbeer's  Huguenots,  the  Prophet,  or  Robert ; 
Gounod's  Faust,  or  Mozart's  Don  Juan. 

10 

21  I  hear  the  dance-music  of  all  nations, 

The  waltz,  (some  delicious  measure,  lapsing,  bathing  me 

in  bliss  ;) 
The  bolero,  to  tinkling  guitars  and  clattering  castanets. 

22  I  see  religious  dances  old  and  new, 
I  hear  the  sound  of  the  Hebrew  lyre, 

I  see  the  Crusaders  marching,  bearing  the  cross  on 

high,  to  the  martial  clang  of  cymbals  ; 
I  hear  dervishes  monotonously  chanting,  interspers'd 

with  frantic  shouts,  as  they  spin  around,  turning 

always  towards  Mecca  ; 
I  see  the  rapt  religious  dances  of  the  Persians  and  the 

Arabs  ; 
Again,  at  Eleusis,  home  of  Ceres,  I  see  the   modern 

Greeks  dancing, 
I  hear  them  clapping  their  hands,  as  they  bend  their 

bodies, 
I  hear  the  metrical  shuffling  of  their  feet. 


22  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

23  I  see  again  the  wild  old  Corybantian  dance,  the  per 

formers  wounding  each  other ; 
I  see  the  Roman  youth,  to  the  shrill  sound  of  flageolets, 

throwing  and  catching  their  weapons, 
As  they  fall  on  their  knees,  and  rise  again. 

24  I  hear  from  the  Mussulman  mosque  the  muezzin 

calling ; 
I  see  the  worshippers  within,  (nor  form,  nor  sermon, 

argument,  nor  word, 
But   silent,    strange,   devout — rais'd,   glowing  heads — 

extatic  faces.) 

11 

J5  I  hear  the  Egyptian  harp  of  many  strings, 

The  primitive  chants  of  the  Nile  boatmen  ; 

The  sacred  imperial  hymns  of  China, 

To  the  delicate  sounds  of  the  king,  (the  stricken  wood 

and  stone  ;) 

Or  to  Hindu  flutes,  and  the  fretting  twang  of  the  vina, 
A  band  of  bayaderes. 

12 

~6  Now  Asia,  Africa  leave  me — Europe,  seizing,  inflates 
me  ; 

To  organs  huge,  and  bands,  I  hear  as  from  vast  con 
courses  of  voices, 

Luther's  strong  hymn,  Einefeste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott ; 

Rossini's  Stabat  Mater  dolorosa ; 

Or,  floating  in  some  high  cathedral  dim,  with  gorgeous 
color'd  windows, 

The  passionate  Agnus  Dei,  or  Gloria  in  Excdsis. 

13 

27  Composers  !  mighty  maestros  ! 

And  you,  sweet  singers  of  old  lands — Soprani !  Tenori ! 

Bassi ! 

To  you  a  new  bard,  carolling  free  in  the  west, 
Obeisant,  sends  his  love. 


PEOTJD  Musio  OF  THE  STORM.  23 

58  (Such  led  to  thee,  O  Soul ! 
All  senses,  shows  and  objects,  lead  to  thee, 
But  now,  it   seems  to  me,  sound  leads   o'er  all  the 
rest.) 

14 

-9  I  hear  the  annual  singing  of  the  children  in  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral ; 

Or,  under  the  high  roof  of  some  colossal  hall,  the  sym 
phonies,  oratorios  of  Beethoven,  Handel,  or 
Haydn  ; 

The  Creation,  in  billoTvS  of  godhood  laves  me. 

30  Give  me  to  hold  all  sounds,   (I,  madly  struggling, 

cry,) 

Fill  me  with  all  the  voices  of  the  universe, 
Endow  me  with  their  throbbings — Nature's  also, 
The   tempests,   waters,   winds — operas    and    chants — 

marches  and  dances, 
Utter — pour  in — for  I  would  take  them  all. 

15 

sl  Then  I  woke  softly, 

And   pausing,    questioning   awhile   the   music  of    my 

dream, 
And  questioning  all  those  reminiscences — the  tempest 

in  its  fury, 

And  all  the  songs  of  sopranos  and  tenors, 
And  those  rapt  oriental  dances,  of  religious  fervor, 
And  the  sweet  varied  instruments,  and  the  diapason  of 

organs, 
And  all   the   artless   plaints   of    love,   and   grief  and 

death, 
I  said  to  my  silent,  curious  Soul,  out  of  the  bed  of  the 

slumber-chamber, 

Come,  for  I  have  found  the  clue  I  sought  so  long, 
Let  us  go  forth  refresh'd  amid  the  day, 
Cheerfully  tallying  life,  walking  the  world,  the  real, 
.    Nourished  henceforth  by  our  celestial  dream. 


24  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

32  And  I  said,  moreover, 

Haply,  what  thou  hast  heard,  O  Soul,  was  not  the  sound 

of  winds, 
Nor  dream  of  raging  storm,  nor  sea-hawk's  flapping 

wings,  nor  harsh  scream, 
Nor  vocalism  of  sun-bright  Italy, 
Nor  German   organ  majestic — nor  vast   concourse  of 

voices — nor  layers  of  harmonies  ; 
Nor  strophes  of  husbands  and  wives — nor  sound  of 

marching  soldiers, 

Nor  flutes,  nor  harps,  nor  the  bugle-calls  of  camps  ; 
But,  to  a  new  rhythmus  fitted  for  thee, 
Poems,  bridging  the  way  from  Life  to  Death,  vaguely 

wafted  in  night  air,  uncaught,  unwritten, 
Which,  let  us  go  forth  in  the  bold  day,  and  write. 


ASHES  OF  SOLDIERS. 


Again  a  verse  for  .sake  of  you, 

You  soldiers  in  the  ranks — you  Volunteers, 

Who  bravely  fighting,  silent  fell, 

To  fill  unmention'd  graves. 


ASHES   OF    SOLDIERS. 

1  ASHES  of  soldiers  ! 

As  I  muse,  retrospective,  murmuring  a  chant  in  thought, 
Lo!  the  war  resumes — again  to  my  sense  your  shapes, 
And  again  the  advance  of  armies. 

2  Noiseless  as  mists  and  vapors, 

From  their  graves  in  the  trenches  ascending, 

From  the  cemeteries  all  through  Virginia  and  Ten 
nessee, 

From  every  point  of  the  compass,  out  of  the  countless 
unnamed  graves, 

In  wafted  clouds,  in  myriads  large,  or  squads  of  twos 
or  threes,  .or  single  ones,  they  come, 

And  silently  gather  round  me, 

3  Now  sound  no  note,  O  trumpeters ! 

Not  at  the  head  of  my  cavalry,  parading  on  spirited 

horses, 
"With   sabres   drawn   and   glist'ning,   and  carbines  by 

their  thighs— (ah,  my  brave  horsemen  ! 
2 


26  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

My  handsome,  tan-faced  horsemen !  what  life,  what  joy 

and  pride, 
"With  all  the  perils,  were  yours  !) 

4  Nor  you  drummers — neither  at  reveille,  at  dawn, 
Nor  the  long  roll    alarming  the  camp — nor  even  the 

muffled  beat  for  a  burial ; 

Nothing  from  you,  this  time,  O  drummers,  bearing  my 
warlike  drums. 

5  But  aside  from  these,  and  the  marts  of  wealth,  and 

the  crowded  promenade, 
Admitting  around  me  comrades  close,  unseen  by  the 

rest,  and  voiceless, 
The  slain  elate  and  alive  again — the  dust  and  debris 

alive, 
I  chant  this  chant  of  my  silent  soul,  in  the  name  of  all 

dead  soldiers. 

6  Faces  so  pale,  with  wondrous  eyes,  very  dear,  gather 

closer  yet ; 
Draw  close,  but  speak  not. 

7  Phantoms  of  countless  lost ! 

Invisible  to  the  rest,  henceforth  become  my  compan 
ions! 
Follow  me  ever  !  desert  me  not,  while  I  live. 

8  Sweet  are  the  blooming  cheeks  of  the  living !  sweet 

are  the  musical  voices  sounding! 
But  sweet,  ah  sweet,  are  the  dead,  with  their  silent  eyes. 

9  Dearest  comrades !  all  is  over  and  long  gone  ; 
But  love  is  not  over — and  what  love,  O  comrades  ! 
Perfume    from    battle-fields   rising  —  up  from    foetor 

arising. 

10  Perfume  therefore  my  chant,  O  love  !  immortal  Love  ' 
Give  me  to  bathe  the  memories  of  all  dead  soldiers, 
Shroud  them,  embalm  them,   cover  them  all  over  with 

tender  pride. 


ASHES  OF  SOLDIERS.  27 

11  Perfume  all !  make  all  wholesome  ! 
Make  these  ashes  to  nourish  and  blossom, 

O  love  !  O  chant !  solve  all,  fructify  all  with  the  last 
chemistry. 

12  Give  me  exhaustless — make  me  a  fountain, 

That  I  exhale  love  from  me  wherever  I  go,  like  a  moist 

perennial  dew, 
For  the  ashes  of  all  dead  soldiers. 


IN  MIDNIGHT  SLEEP. 

i 

IN  midnight  sleep,  of  many  a  face  of  anguish, 

Of  the  look  at  first  of  the  mortally  wounded — of  that 

indescribable  look  ; 

Of  the  dead  on  their  backs,  with  arms  extended  wide, 
I  dream,  I  dream,  I  dream. 


Of  scenes  of  nature,  fields  and  mountains  ; 

Of  skies,  so  beauteous  after  a  storm — and  at  night  the 

moon  so  unearthly  bright, 
Shining    sweetly,    shining  down,    where  we   dig    the 

trenches  and  gather  the  heaps, 
I  dream,  I  dream,  I  dream. 


Long,  long  have  they  pass'd — faces  and  trenches  and 
fields  ; 

Where  through  the  carnage  I  moved  with  a  callous  com 
posure — or  away  from  the  fallen, 

Onward  I  sped  at  the  time — But  now  of  their  forms  at 

night, 
I  dream,  I  dream,  I  dream. 


28  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


CAMPS  OF  GREEN. 

1  NOT  alone  those  camps  of  white,  O  soldiers, 
"When,  as  order'd  forward,  after  a  long  march, 
Footsore   and  weary,  soon   as   the   light  lessen'd,  we 

halted  for  the  night ; 
Some  of  us  so  fatigued,  carrying  the  gun  and  knapsack, 

dropping  asleep  in  our  tracks  ; 
Others  pitching  the  little  tents,  and  the  fires  lit  up 

began  to  sparkle  ; 
Outposts  of  pickets  posted,  surrounding,  alert  through 

the  dark, 

And  a  word  provided  for  countersign,  careful  for  safety ; 
Till  to  the  call  of  the  drummers  at  daybreak  loud]y 

beating  the  drums, 
We  rose  up  refresh'd,  the  night  and  sleep  pass'd  over, 

and  resumed  our  journey, 
Or  proceeded  to  battle. 

2  Lo !  the  camps  of  the  tents  of  green, 

Which  the  days  of  peace  keep  filliDg,  and  the  days  of 

war  keep  filling, 
With  a  mystic  army,  (is  it  too  order'd  forward  ?  is  it 

too  only  halting  awhile, 
Till  night  and  sleep  pass  over  ?) 

3  Now  in  those  camps  of  green — in  their  tents  dotting 

the  world  ; 

In  the  parents,  children,  husbands,  wives,  in  them — in 
the  old  and  young, 

Sleeping  under  the  sunlight,  sleeping  under  the  moon 
light,  content  and  silent  there  at  last, 

Behold  the  mighty  bivouac-field,  and  waiting-camp  of 
all, 

Of  corps  and  generals  all,  and  the  President  over  the 
corps  and  generals  all, 

And  of  each  of  us,  O  soldiers,  and  of  each  and  all  in 
the  ranks  we  fought, 

(There  without  hatred  we  shall  all  meet.) 


ASHES  OF  SOLDIERS.  29 

4  For  presently,  O  soldiers,  we  too  camp  in  our  place  in 

the  bivouac-camps  of  green  ; 
But  we  need  not  provide  for  outposts,  nor  word  for  the 

countersign, 
Nor  drummer  to  beat  the  morning  drum. 


TO  A  CERTAIN  CIVILIAN. 

DID  YOU  ask  dulcet  rhymes  from  me  ? 

Did  you  seek  the  civilian's  peaceful  and  languishing 
rhymes  ? 

Did  you  find  what  I  sang  erewhile  so  hard  to  follow  ? 

Why  I  was  not  singing  erewhile  for  you  to  follow,  to 
understand — nor  am  I  now  ; 

(I  have  been  born  of  the  same  as  the  war  was  born  ; 

The  drum-corps'  harsh  rattle  is  to  me  sweet  music — I 
love  well  the  martial  dirge, 

With  slow  wail,  and  convulsive  throb,  leading  the  offi 
cer's  funeral  :) 

— What  to  such  as  you,  anyhow,  such  a  poet  as  I  ? — 
therefore  leave  my  works, 

And  go  lull  yourself  with  what  you  can  understand — 
and  with  piano-tunes ; 

For  I  lull  nobody — and  you  will  never  understand  me. 


PENSIVE  ON  HER  DEAD  GAZING,  I  HEARD  THE 
MOTHER  OF  ALL. 

PENSIVE,  on  her  dead  gazing,  I  heard  the  Mother  of  All, 

Desperate,  on  the  torn  bodies,  on  the  forms  covering 
the  battle-fields  gazing  ; 

(As  the  last  gun  ceased — but  the  scent  of  the  powder- 
smoke  linger'd  ;) 

As  she  call'd  to  her  earth  with  mournful  voice  while  she 
stalk'd  : 


30  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

Absorb  them  well,  O  my  earth,  she  cried — I  charge  you, 

lose  not  my  sons  !  lose  not  an  atom  ; 
And  you  streams,  absorb  them  well,  taking  their  dear 

blood ; 
And  you  local  spots,  and  you  airs  that  swim  above 

lightly, 
And  all  you  essences  of  soil  and  growth — and  you,  my 

rivers'  depths  ; 
And  you,  mountain  sides — and  the  woods  where  my 

dear  children's  blood,  trickling,  redden'd  ; 
And  you  trees,  down  in  your  roots,  to  bequeath  to  all 

future  trees, 
My  dead  absorb — my  young  men's  beautiful  bodies 

absorb — and  their  precious,  precious,  precious 

blood  ; 
Which  holding  in  trust  for  me,  faithfully  back  again 

give  me,  many  a  year  hence, 

In  unseen  essence  and  odor  of  surface  and  grass,  centu 
ries  hence  ; 
In  blowing  airs  from  the  fields,  back  again  give  me  my 

darlings — give  my  immortal  heroes  ; 
Exhale   me   them   centuries  hence — breathe  me  their 

breath — let  not  an  atom  be  lost ; 
O  years  and  graves !   O  air  and  soil !  O  my  dead,  an 

aroma  sweet ! 
Exhale  them  perennial,  sweet  death,  years,  centuries 

hence. 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  BURIAL 
HYMN. 


WHEN    LILACS    LAST    IN    THE    DOOR- 
YARD    BLOOM'D. 


1  WHEN  lilacs  last  in  the  door-yard  bloom'd, 
And  the  great  star  early  droop'd  in  the  western  sky  in 
the  night, 

1  mourn'd — and  yet  shall  mourn  with  ever-returning 

spring. 

2  O  ever-returning    spring  !    trinity  sure   to   me  you 

bring ; 
Lilac  blooming  perennial,  and   drooping  star  in  the 

west, 
And  thought  of  him  I  love. 


3  O  powerful,  western,  fallen  star ! 

O  shades  of  night !  O  moody,  tearful  night ! 

O  great  star  disappear'd !  O  the  black  murk  that  hides 

the  star ! 
O  cruel  hands  that  hold  me  powerless  !  O  helpless  soul 

o*f  me ! 
O  harsh  surrounciicg  cloud,  that  will  not  free  my  soul ! 


32  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

3 

4  In  the  door-yard  fronting  an  old  farm-house,  near  the 

white-washed  palings, 
Stands  the  lilac  bush,  tall-growing,  with  heart-shaped 

leaves  of  rich  green, 
With  many  a  pointed  blossom,  rising,  delicate,  with  tho 

perfume  strong  I  IOYC, 
With  every  leaf  a  miracle and  from  this  bush  in 

the  door-yard, 
With  delicate-color'd  blossoms,  and  heart-shaped  leaves 

of  rich  green, 
A  sprig,  with  its  flower,  I  break. 


5  In  the  swamp,  in  secluded  recesses, 

A  shy  and  hidden  bird  is  warbling  a  song. 

6  Solitary,  the  thrush, 

The  hermit,  withdrawn  to  himself,  avoiding  the  settle 
ments, 
Sings  by  himself  a  song. 

7  Song  of  the  bleeding  throat ! 

Death's  outlet  song  of  life — (for  well,  dear  brother,  I 

know, 
If  thou  wast  not  gifted  to  sing,  thou  would'st  surely 

die.) 


8  Over  the  breast  of  the  spring,  the  land,  amid  cities, 
Amid  lanes,  and  through  old  woods,  (where  lately  the 

violets  peep'd  from  the  ground,  spotting  the  gray 

debris  ;) 
Amid  the  grass  in  the  fields  each  side  of  the  lanes — 

passing  the  endless  grass  ; 
Passing  the  yellow-spear'd  wheat,  every  grain  from  its 

shroud  in  the  dark-brown  fields  uprising  ; 
Passing  the  apple-tree  blows  of  white  and  pink  in  the 

orchards  ; 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  BUKIAL  HYMN.  33 

Carrying  a  corpse  to  where  it  shall  rest  in  the  grave, 
Night  and  day  journeys  a  coffin. 

6 

9  Coffin  that  passes  through  lanes  and  streets, 
Through  day  and  night,  with  the  great  cloud  darkening 

the  land, 
With  the  pomp  of  the  inloop'd  flags,  with  the  cities 

draped  in  black, 
With  the  show  of  the  States  them  selves,  as  of  crape- 

veil'd  women,  standing, 
With  processions  long  and  winding,  and  the  flambeaus 

of  the  night, 
With  the  countless  torches  lit — with  the  silent  sea  of 

faces,  and  the  unbared  heads, 
With  the  waiting  depot,  the  arriving  coffin,  and  the 

sombre  faces, 
With  dirges  through  the  night,  with  the  thousand  voices 

rising  strong  and  solemn  ; 
With  all  the  mournful  voices  of  the  dirges,  pour'd  around 

the  coffin, 
The  dim-lit  churches  and  the  shuddering  organs — Where 

amid  these  you  journey, 

With  the  tolling,  tolling  bells'  perpetual  clang  ; 
Here  !  coffin  that  slowly  passes, 
I  give  you  my  sprig  of  lilac. 


10  (Nor  for  you,  for  one,  alone  ;  • 

Blossoms  and  branches  green  to  coffins  all  I  bring  : 
For  fresh  as  the  morning — thus  would  I  carol  a  song 
for  you,  O  sane  and  sacred  death. 

11  All  over  bouquets  of  roses, 

O  death  !  I  cover  you  over  with  roses  and  early  lilies  ; 
But  mostly  and  now  the  lilac  that  blooms  the  first, 
Copious,  I  break,  I  break  the  sprigs  from  the  bushes  ; 
With  loaded  arms  I  come,  pouring  for  you, 
For  you,  and  the  coffins  all  of  you,  O  death.) 


34  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

8 

12  O  western  orb,  sailing  the  heaven ! 

Now  I  know  what  you  must  have  meant,  as  a  month 

since  we  walk'd, 

As  we  walk'd  up  and  down  in  the  dark  blue  so  mystic, 
As  we  walk'd  in  silence  the  transparent  shadowy  night, 
As  I  saw  you  had  something  to  tell,  as  you  bent  to  me 

night  after  night, 
As  you  droop'd  from  the  sky  low  down,  as  if  to  my  side, 

(while  the  other  stars  ah1  look'd  on  ;) 
As  we  wander'd  together  the  solemn  night,  (for  some 
thing,  I  know  not  what,  kept  me  from  sleep  ;) 
As  the  night  advanced,  and  I  saw  on  the  rim  of  the 

west,  ere  you  went,  how  full  you  were  of  woe  ; 
As  I  stood  on  the  rising  ground  in  the  breeze,  in  the 

cold  transparent  night, 
As  I  watch'd  where  you  pass'd  and  was  lost  in  the 

netherward  black  of  the  night, 
As  my  soul,  in  its  trouble,  dissatisfied,  sank,  as  where 

you,  sad  orb, 
Concluded,  dropt  in  the  night,  and  was  gone. 

9 

13  Sing  on,  there  in  the  swamp ! 

0  singer  bashful  and  tender  !  I  hear  your  notes — I  hear 

your  call ; 

1  hear — I  come  presently — I  understand  you  ; 

But  a  moment  I  linger — for  the  lustrous  star  has  de- 

tain'd  me  ; 
The  star,  my  departing  comrade,  holds  and  detains  me. 

10 

14  O  how  shall  I  warble  myself  for  the  dead  one  there  I 

loved  ? 
And  how  shall  I  deck  my  song  for  the  large  sweet  soul 

that  has  gone  ? 
And  what  shall  my  perfume  be,  for  the  grave  of  him  I 

love? 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  BUEIAL  HYMN.  35 

15  Sea-winds,  blown  from  east  and  west, 

Blown  from  the  eastern  sea,  and  blown  from  the  west 
ern  sea,  till  there  on  the  prairies  meeting  : 
These,  and  with  these,  and  the  breath  of  my  chant, 
I  perfume  the  grave  of  him  I  love. 

11 

16  0  what  shall  I  hang  on  the  chamber  walls  ? 

And  what  shall  the  pictures  be  that  I  hang  on  the 

walls, 
To  adorn  the  burial-house  of  him  I  love  ? 

17  Pictures  of  growing  spring,  and  farms,  and  homes, 
With  the  Fourth-month  eve  at  sundown,  and  the  gray 

smoke  lucid  and  bright, 

"With  floods  of  the  yellow  gold  of  the  gorgeous,  indo 
lent,  sinking  sun,  burning,  expanding  the  air  ; 
With  the  fresh  sweet  herbage  under  foot,  and  the  pale 

green  leaves  of  the  trees  prolific  ; 
In  the  distance  the  flowing  glaze,  the  breast  of  the  river, 

with  a  wind- dapple  here  and  there  ; 
With  ranging  hills  on  the  banks,  with  many  a  line 

against  the  sky,  and  shadows  ; 
And  the  city  at  hand,  with  dwellings  so  dense,  and 

stacks  of  chimneys, 
And  all  the  scenes  of  life,  and  the  workshops,  and  the 

workmen  homeward  returning. 

12 

18  Lo !  body  and  soul !  this  land ! 

Mighty  Manhattan,  with  spires,  and  the  sparkling  and 
hurrying  tides,  and  the  ships  ; 

The  varied  and  ample  land — the  South  and  the  North 
in  the  light — Ohio's  shores,  and  flashing  Mis 
souri, 

And  ever  the  far-spreading  prairies,  cover'd  with  grass 
and  corn. 

19  Lo  !  the  most  excellent  sun,  so  calm  and  haughty  ; 
The  violet  and  purple  morn,  with  just-felt  breezes  ; 


36  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

The  gentle,  soft-born,  measureless  light ; 

The    miracle,    spreading,    bathing    all  —  the    fulfill'd 

noon  ; 
The  coming  eve,  delicious — the  welcome  night,  and  the 

stars, 
Over  my  cities  shining  all,  enveloping  man  and  land. 

13 

20  Sing  on  !  sing  on,  you  gray-brown  bird ! 

Sing  from  the  swamps,  the  recesses — pour  your  chant 

from  the  bushes ; 
Limitless  out   of    the   dusk,   out   of   the   cedars   and 

pines. 

21  Sing  on,  dearest  brother — warble  your  reedy  song  ; 
Loud  human  song,  with  voice  of  uttermost  woe. 

22  O  liquid,  and  free,  and  tender  ! 

O  wild  and  loose  to  my  soul !  O  wondrous  singer  ! 

You  only  I  hear yet  the  star  holds  me,  (but  will 

soon  depart ;) 
Yet  the  lilac,  with  mastering  odor,  holds  me. 

14 

23  Now  while  I  sat  in  the  day,  and  look'd  forth, 

In  the  close  of  the  day,  with  its  light,  and  the  fields  of 
spring,  and  the  farmer  preparing  his  crops, 

In  the  large  unconscious  scenery  of  my  land,  with  its 
lakes  and  forests, 

In  the  heavenly  aerial  beauty,  (after  the  perturb'd 
winds,  and  the  storms  ;) 

Under  the  arching  heavens  of  the  afternoon  swift  pass 
ing,  and  the  voices  of  children  and  women, 

The  many-moving  sea-tides, — and  I  saw  the  ships  how 
they  sail'd, 

And  the  summer  approaching  with  richness,  and  the 
fields  all  busy  with  labor, 

And  the  infinite  separate  houses,  how  they  all  went  on, 
each  with  its  meals  and  minutia  of  daily  usages  ; 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  BURIAL  HYMN.  37 

And  the  streets,  how  their  throbbings  throbb'd,  and  the 
cities  pent — lo  !  then  and  there, 

Falling  upon  them  all,  and  among  them  all,  enveloping 
me  with  the  rest, 

Appear'd  the  cloud,  appear'd  the  long  black  trail ; 

And  I  knew  Death,  its  thought,  and  the  sacred  knowl 
edge  of  death. 

15 

"4  Then  with  the  knowledge  of  death  as  walking  one 
side  of  me, 

And  the  thought  of  death  close-walking  the  other  side 
of  me, 

And  I  in  the  middle,  as  with  companions,  and  as  hold 
ing  the  hands  of  companions, 

I  fled  forth  to  the  hiding  receiving  night,  that  talks 
not, 

Down  to  the  shores  of  the  water,  the  path  by  the  swamp 
in  the  dimness, 

To  the  solemn  shadowy  cedars,  and  ghostly  pines  eo 
still. 

25  And  the  singer  so  shy  to  the  rest  receiv'd  me  ; 

The  gray-brown   bird  I  know,  receiv'd  us  comrades 

three  ; 
And  he  sang  what  seem'd  the  carol  of  death,  and  a 

verse  for  him  I  love. 

26  From  deep  secluded  recesses, 

From  the  fragrant  cedars,  and  the  ghostly  pines   so 

still, 
Came  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

27  And  the  charm  of  the  carol  rapt  me, 

As  I  held,  as  if  by  their  hands,  my  comrades  in  the 

night ; 
And  the  voice  of  my  spirit  tallied  the  song  of   the 

bird. 


38  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

DEA  TH    CAROL. 
16 

:8  Come,  lovely  and  soothing  Death, 

Undulate  round  the  world,  serenely  arriving,  arriving, 

In  the  day,  in  the  night,  to  all,  to  each, 

Sooner  or  later,  delicate  Death. 

™  Prais'd  be  the  fathomless  universe, 
For  life  and  joy,  and  for  objects  and  knowledge  curious  ; 
And  for  love,  sweet  love — But  praise  !  praise  !  praise  ! 
For  the  sure-enwinding  arms  of  cool-enfolding  Death. 

50  Dark  Mother,  always  gliding  near,  with  soft  feet, 
Have  none  chanted  for  thee  a  chant  of  fullest  welcome? 
Then  I  chant  it  for  thee — I  glorify  thee  above  all ; 
I  bring  thee  a  song  that  ivhen  thou  must  indeed  come,  come 
unfalteringly. 

31  Approach,  strong  Deliveress  ! 

When  it  is  so — when  thou  hast  taken  them,  I  joyously  sing 

the  dead, 

Lost  in  the  loving,  floating  ocean  of  thee, 
Laved  in  the  flood  of  thy  bliss,  0  Death. 

32  From  me  to  thee  glad  serenades, 

Dances  for  thee  I  propose,  saluting  thee — adornments  and 

f eastings  for  thee  ; 
And  the  sights  of  the  open  landscape,  and  the  high-spread 

sky,  are  fitting, 
And  life  and  the  fields,  and  the  huge  and  thoughtful  night. 

13  The  night,  in  silence,  under  many  a  star  ; 

The  ocean  shore,  and  the  husky  whispering  wave,  whose 

voice  I  know  ; 

And  the  soul  turning  to  thee,  0  vast  and  well-veil 'd  Death, 
And  the  body  gratefully  nestling  close  to  thee. 

14  Over  the  tree-tops  I  float  thee  a  song  ! 

Over  the  rising  and  sinking  waves — over  the  myriad  fields, 
and  the  prairies  wide  ; 


PKESIDENT  LINCOLN'S  BUEIAL  HYMN.  39 

Over  the  dense-packed  cities  all,  and  the  teeming  wharves 

and  ways, 
1  float  this  carol  with  joy,  with  joy  to  thee,  0  Death! 

17 

35  To  the  tally  of  my  soul, 

Loud  and  strong  kept  up  the  gray-brown  bird, 

With  pure,  deliberate  notes,  spreading,  filling  the  night. 

36  Loud  in  the  pines  and  cedars  dim, 

Clear  in  the  freshness  moist,  and  the  swamp-perfume  ; 
And  I  with  my  comrades  there  in  the  night. 

37  While  my  sight  that  was  bound  in  my  eyes  unclosed, 
As  to  long  panoramas  of  visions. 

18 

38  I  saw  askant  the  armies  ; 

And  I  saw,  as  in  noiseless  dreams,  hundreds  of  battle- 


Borne  through  the  smoke  of  the  battles,  and  piere'd 

with  missiles,  I  saw  them, 
And  carried  hither  and  yon  through  the  smoke,  and 

torn  and  bloody ; 
And  at  last  but  a  few  shreds  left  on  the  staffs,  (and  all 

in  silence,) 
And  the  staffs  all  splinter'd  and  broken. 

39  I  saw  battle-corpses,  myriads  of  them, 

And  the  white  skeletons  of  young  men — I  saw  them  ; 

I  saw  the  debris  and  debris  of  all  the  dead  soldiers  of 

the  war  ; 

But  I  saw  they  were  not  as  was  thought ; 
They  themselves  were  fully  at  rest — they  suffer'd  not ; 
The  living  remain'd  and  suffer'd — the  mother  suffer'd, 
And  the  wife  and  the  child,  and  the  musing  comrade 

suffer'd, 
And  the  armies  that  remain'd  suffer'd. 

19 

10  Passing  the  visions,  passing  the  night ; 

Passing,  unloosing  the  hold  of  my  comrades'  hands  ; 


40  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

Passing  the  song  of  the  hermit  bird,  and  the  tallying 
song  of  my  soul, 

(Victorious  song,  death's  outlet  song,  yet  varying,  ever- 
altering  song, 

As  low  and  wailing,  yet  clear  the  notes,  rising  and  fall 
ing,  flooding  the  night, 

Sadly  sinking  and  fainting,  as  warning  and  warning, 
and  yet  again  bursting  with  joy, 

Covering  the  earth,  and  filling  the  spread  of  the  heaven, 

As  that  powerful  psalm  in  the  night  I  heard  from 
recesses,) 

Passing,  I  leave  thee,  lilac  with  heart-shaped  leaves  ; 

I  leave  thee  there  in  the  door-yard,  blooming,  returning 

with  spring. 

II  I  cease  from  my  song  for  thee  ; 

From  my  gaze  on  thee  in  the  west,  fronting  the  west, 

communing  with  thee, 
O  comrade  lustrous,  with  silver  face  in  the  night. 

20 

42  Yet  each  I  keep,  and  all,  retrievements  out  of  the 
night ; 

The  song,  the  wondrous  chant  of  the  gray-brown  bird, 

And  the  tallying  chant?  the  echo  arous'd  in  my  soul, 

With  the  lustrous  and  drooping  star,  writh  the  counte 
nance  full  of  woe, 

With  the  lilac  tall,  and  its  blossoms  of  mastering  odor  ; 

With  the  holders  holding  my  hand,  nearing  the  call  of 
the  bird, 

Comrades  mine,  and  I  in  the  midst,  and  their  memory 
ever  I  keep — for  the  dead  I  loved  so  well ; 

For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my  days  and  lands  . . . 
and  this  for  his  dear  sake  ; 

Lilac  and  star  and  bird,  twined  with  the  chant  of  my 
soul, 

There  in  the  fragrant  pines,  and  the  cedars  dusk  and  dim. 


MEMORIES  OF  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN.  41 

O    CAPTAIN!    MY   CAPTAIN! 


O  CAPTAIN  !  my  Captain !  our  fearful  trip  is  done  ; 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought 

is  won  ; 

The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and 

daring  : 

But  O  heart !   heart !   heart ! 
O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


O  Captain  !  my  Captain !  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells  ; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle 

trills  ; 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for  you  the 

shores  a-crowding  ; 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces 

turning-; 

Here  Captain  !  dear  father ! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head  ; 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck, 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 


My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still ; 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will; 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed 

and  done  ; 
From  fearful  trip,  the  victor  ship,  conies  in  with  object 

won  : 

Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells ! 
But  I,  with  mournful  tread, 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


42  MEMORIES  OF  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN. 

HUSH'D    BE    THE    CAMPS    TO-DAY. 

(May  4,  1865.) 


HUSH'D  be  the  camps  to  day  ; 

And,  soldiers,  let  us  drape  our  war-worn  weapons  ; 
And  each  with  musing  soul  retire,  to  celebrate, 
Our  dear  commander's  death. 

2  No  more  for  him  life's  stormy  conflicts  ; 

Nor  victory,  nor  defeat — no  more  time's  dark  events, 

Charging  like  ceaseless  clouds  across  the  sky. 


3  But  sing,  poet,  in  our  name  ; 

Sing- of  the  love  we  bore  him — because  you,  dweller  in 
camps,  know  it  truly. 

4  As  they  invault  the  coffin  there  ; 

Sing — as  they   close  the  doors  of  earth  upon  him — 

one  verse, 
For  the  heavy  hearts  of  soldiers. 


THIS  DUST  WAS  ONCE  THE  MAN. 

THIS  dust  was  once  the  Man, 

Gentle,  plain,  just  and  resolute — under  whose  cautious 

hand, 
Against  the  foulest  crime  in  history  .known  in  any  land 

or  age, 
"Was  saved  the  Union  of  These  States. 


POEM  OF  JOYS. 


1  O  TO  make  the  most  jubilant  poem ! 

Even  to  set  off  these,  and  merge  with  these,  the  carols 
of  Death ; 

O  full  of  music !  full  of  manhood,  womanhood,  in 
fancy  ! 

Full  of  common  employments !  full  of  grain  and  trees. 

2  O  for  the  voices  of  animals  !  O  for  the  swiftness  and 

balance  of  fishes! 

O  for  the  dropping  of  rain-drops  in  a  poem  ! 
O  for  the  sunshine,  and  motion  of  waves  in  a  poem. 

3  O  the  joy  of  my  spirit !  it  is  uncaged !  it  darts  like 

lightning ! 

It  is  not  enough  to  have  this  globe,  or  a  certain  time — 
I  will  have  thousands  of  globes,  and  ah1  time. 


4  O  the  engineer's  joys  ! 

To  go  with  a  locomotive ! 

To  hear  the  hiss  of  steam — the  merry  shriek — the 
steam-whistle — the  laughing  locomotive  ! 

To  push  with  resistless  way,  and  speed  off  in  the  dis 
tance. 

B  O  the  gleesome  saunter  over  fields  and  hill-sides  ! 


44  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

The  leaves  and  flowers  of  the  commonest  weeds — the 

moist  fresh  stillness  of  the  woods, 
The  exquisite  smell  of   the  earth  at    day-break,    and 

all  through  the  forenoon. 

6  O  the  horseman's  and  horsewoman's  joys  ! 

The  saddle — the  gallop — the  pressure  upon  the  seat — 
the  cool  gurgling  by  the  ears  and  hair. 

3 

7  O  the  fireman's  joys ! 

I  hear  the  alarm  at  dead  of  night, 

I  hear  bells — shouts  !— r-I  pass  the  crowd — I  run  ! 

The  sight  of  the  flames  maddens  me  with  pleasure. 

8  O  the  joy  of  the  strong-brawn'd  fighter,  towering  in 

the   arena,   in   perfect   condition,   conscious   of 
power,  thirsting  to  meet  his  opponent. 

9  O  the  joy  of  that  vast  elemental  sympathy  which  only 

the  human  Soul  is  capable  of  generating  and 
emitting  in  steady  and  limitless  floods. 

4 

10  O  the  mother's  joys  ! 

The  watching — the  endurance — the  precious  love — the 
anguish — the  patiently  yielded  life. 

11  O  the  joy  of  increase,  growth,  recuperation  ; 

The  joy  of  soothing  and  pacifying — the  joy  of  concord 
and  harmony. 

12  O  to  go  back  to  the  place  where  I  was  born  ! 
To  hear  the  birds  sing  once  more  ! 

To  ramble   about  the  house  and  barn,  and  over  the 

fields,  once  more, 
And  through  the  orchard  and  along  the  old  lanes  once 

more. 

5 

13  0  male  and  female  ! 


POEM  OF  JOYS.  45 

O  the  presence  of  women !  (I  swear  there  is  nothing 

more  exquisite  to  me  than  the  mere  presence  of 

women  ;) 
O  for  the  girl,  my  mate  !  O  for  the  happiness  with  my 

mate! 
O  the  young  man  as  I  pass!   O  I  am  sick  after  the 

friendship  of  him  who,  I  fear,  is  indifferent  to 

me. 

14  O  the  streets  of  cities ! 

Tho  flitting  faces — the  expressions,  eyes,  feet,  costumes ! 
O  I  cannot  tell  how  welcome  they  are  to  me. 


15  O  to  have  been  brought  up  on  bays,  lagoons,  creeks, 

or  along  the  coast ! 
O  to  continue  and  be  employ'd  there  all  my  life  ! 

0  the  briny  and  damp  smell — the  shore — the  salt  weeds. 

exposed  at  low  water, 

The  work  of  fishermen — the  work  of  the  eel-fisher  and 
clam-fisher. 

16  O  it  is  I ! 

1  come  with  my  clam-rake  and  spade  !  I  come  with  my 

eel-spear  ; 
Is  the  tide  out  ?  I  join  the  group  of  clam-diggers  on  the 

flats, 
I  laugh  and  work  with  them — I  joke  at  my  work,  like  a 

mettlesome  young  man. 

17  In  winter  I  take  my  eel-basket  and  eel-spear  and 

travel  out  on  foot  on  the  ice — I  have  a  small  axe 
to  cut  holes  in  the  ice  ; 

Behold  me,  well-clothed,  going  gaily,  or  returning  in 
the  afternoon — my  brood  of  tough-  boys  accom 
panying  me, 

My  brood  of  grown  and  part-grown  boys,  who  love  to 
be  with  no.  one  else  so  well  as  they  love  to  be 
with  me, 

By  day  to  work  with  me,  and  by  night  to  sleep  with  me. 


46  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

18  Or,  another  time,  in  warm  weather,  out  in  a  boat,  to 

lift  the  lobster-pots,  where  they  are  sunk  with 
heavy  stones,  (I  know  the  buoys  ;) 

0  the  sweetness  of  the  Fifth-month  morning  upon  the 

water,  as  I  row,  just  before  sunrise,  toward  the 
buoys ; 

1  pull  the  wicker  pots  up  slantingly — the  dark  green 

lobsters  are  desperate  with  their  claws,  as  I  take 

them  out — I  insert  wooden  pegs  in  the  joints  of 

their  pincers, 
I  go  to  all  the  places,  one  after  another,  and  then  row 

back  to  the  shore, 
There,  in  a  huge  kettle  of  boiling  water,  the  lobsters 

shall  be  boil'd  till  their  color  becomes  scarlet. 

19  Or,  another  time,  mackerel-taking, 

Voracious,  mad  for  the  hook,  near  the  surface,  they 

seem  to  fill  the  water  for  miles : 
pr,  another  time,  fishing  for  rock-fish  in  Chesapeake 

Bay — I  one  of  the  brown-faced  crew  : 
Or,  another  time,  trailing  for  blue-fish  off  Paumanok,  I 

stand  with  braced  body, 
My  left  foot  is  on  the  gunwale — my  right  arm  throws 

the  coils  of  slender  rope, 
In  sight  around  me  the  quick  veering  and  darting  of 

fifty  skiffs,  my  companions. 


20  O  boating  on  the  rivers  ! 

The  voyage  down  the  Niagara,  (the  St.  Lawrence,)— 
the  superb  scenery — the  steamers, 

The  ships  sailing — the  Thousand  Islands — the  occa 
sional  timber-raft,  and  the  raftsmen  with  long- 
reaching  sweep-oars, 

The  little  huts  on  the  rafts,  and  the  stream  of  smoke 
when  they  cook  supper  at  evening. 

21  O  something  pernicious  and  dread ! 
Something  far  away  from  a  puny  and  pious  life ! 
Something  unproved  !  Something  in  a  trance  ! 


POEM  OP  JOYS.  47 

Something  escaped  from  the  anchorage,  and  driving 
free. 

22  O  to  work  in  mines,  or  forging  iron ! 

Foundry   casting — the   foundry  itself — the   rude  high 

roof — the  ample  and  shadow'd  space, 
The  furnace — the  hot  liquid  pour'd  out  and  running. 

8 

23  O  to  resume  the  joys  of  the  soldier  : 

To  feel  the  presence  of  a  brave  general !  to  feel  his  sym 
pathy  ! 

To  behold  his  calmness !  to  be  warm'd  in  the  rays  of  his 
smile! 

To  go  to  battle !  to  hear  the  bugles  play,  and  the  drums 
beat ! 

To  hear  the  crash  of  artillery !  to  see  the  glittering  of 
the  bayonets  and  musket-barrels  in  the  sun ! 

To  see  men  fall  and  die,  and  not  complain ! 

To  taste  the  savage  taste  of  blood !  to  be  so  devilish ! 

To  gloat  so  over  the  wounds  and  deaths  of  the  enemy. 

9 

24  O  the  whaleman's  joys !    O  I  cruise  my  old  cruise 

again! 
I  feel  the  ship's  motion  under  me — I  feel  the  Atlantic 

breezes  fanning  me, 
I  hear  the  cry  again  sent  down  from  the  mast-head — 

There — she  blows  ! 
— Again  I  spring  up  the  rigging,  to  look  with  the  rest 

— We  see — we  descend,  wild  with  excitement, 
I  leap  in  the  lower'd  boat — We  row  toward  our  prey, 

where  he  lies, 

We  approach,  stealthy  and  silent — I  see  the  mountain 
ous  mass,  lethargic,  basking, 
I  see  the  harpooneer  standing  up — I  see  the  weapon 

dart  from  his  vigorous  arm  : 
O  swift,  again,  now,  far  out  in  the  ocean,  the  wounded 

whale,  settling,  running  to  windward,  tows  me  ; 


48  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

— Again  I  see  him  rise   to   breathe — We  row  close 

again, 
I  see  a  lance  driven  through  his  side,  press'd  deep, 

turn'd  in  the  wound, 
Again  we  back  off — I  see  him  settle  again — the  life  is 

leaving  him  fast, 
As  he  rises,  he  spouts  blood — I  see  him  swim  in  circles 

narrower  and  narrower,  swiftly  cutting  the  water 

— I  see  him  die  ; 
He  gives  one  convulsive  leap  in  the  centre  of  the  circle, 

and  then  falls  fiat  and  still  in  the  bloody  foam. 

10 

25  O  the  old  manhood  of  me,  my  joy ! 

My  children  and  grand-children — my  white  hair  and 

beard, 
My  largeness,  calmness,  majesty,  out  of  the  long  stretch 

of  my  life. 

26  O  the  ripen'd  joy  of  womanhood! 

0  perfect  happiness  at  last ! 

1  am  more  than  eighty  years  of  age — my  hair,  too,  is 

pure  white — I  am  the  most  venerable  mother  ; 
How  clear  is  my  mind !  how  all  people  draw  nigh  to 

me! 
YvTiat  attractions  are  these,  beyond  any  before?  what 

bloom,  more  than  the  bloom  of  youth  ?     . 
What  beauty  is  this  that  descends  upon  me.  and  rises 

out  of  me  ? 

27  O  the  orator's  joys ! 

To  inflate  the  chest — to  roll  the  thunder  of  the  voice 
out  from  the  ribs  and  throat, 

To  make  the  people  rage,  weep,  hate,  desire,  with  your 
self, 

To  lead  America — to  quell  America  with  a  great  tongue. 

28  O  the  joy  of  my  soul  leaning  pois'd  on  itself — receiv 

ing  identity  through  materials,  and  loving  them 
— observing  characters,  and  absorbing  them  ; 


POEM  OF  JOYS.  49 

O  ray  soul,  vibrated  back   to  me,  from   them — from 

facts,    sight,    hearing,    touch,    my  phrenology, 

reason,   articulation,  comparison,  memory,  and 

the  like  ; 
The  real  life  of  my  senses  and  flesh,  transcending  my 

senses  and  flesh  ; 
My  body,  done  with  materials — my  sight,  done  with 

my  material  eyes  ; 
Proved  to  me  this  day,  beyond  cavil,  that- it  is  not  my 

material  eyes  which  finally  see, 
Nor  my  material  body  which  finally  loves,  walks,  laughs, 

shouts,  embraces,  procreates. 

11 

29  O  the  farmer's  joys ! 

Ohioan's,  Illinoisian's,  Wisconsinese',  Kanadian's,  lo- 
wan's,  Kansian's,  Missourian's,  Oregonese'  joys  ; 

To  rise  at  peep  of  day,  and  pass  forth  nimbly  to  work, 

To  plow  land  in  the  fall  for  winter-sown  crops, 

To  plough  land  in  the  spring  for  maize, 

To  train  orchards — to  graft  the  trees — to  gather  apples 
in  the  fall 

30  O  the  pleasure  with  trees  ! 

The  orchard — the  forest — the*  oak,  cedar,  pine,  pekan- 
tree, 

The  honey-locust,  black-walnut,  cottonwood,  and  mag 
nolia. 

12 

31  O  Death !  the  voyage  of  Death ! 

The  beautiful  touch  of  Death,  soothing  and  benumbing 

a  few  moments,  for  reasons  ; 
Myself,  discharging   my  excrementitious  body,  to  be 

burn'd,  or  rendered  to  powder,  or  buried, 
My  real  body  doubtless  left  to  me  for  other  spheres, 
My  voided  body,  nothing  more  to  me,  returning  to  the 

purifications,  further  offices,  eternal  uses  of  the 

earth. 

3 


50  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

13 

32  O  to  bathe  in  the  swimming-bath,  or  in  a  good  place 

along  shore ! 

To  splash  the  water !  to  walk  ankle-deep — to  race  naked 
along  the  shore. 

33  O  to  realize  space ! 

The  plenteousness  of  all — that  there  are  110  bounds  ; 
To  emerge,  and  be  of  the  sky — of  the  sun  and  moon, 
and  the  flying  clouds,  as  one  with  them. 

34  O  the  joy  of  a  manly  self-hood ! 

Personality — to  be  servile  to  none — to  defer  to  none — 

not  to  any  tyrant,  known  or  unknown, 
To  walk  with  erect  carriage,  a  step  springy  and  elastic, 
To  look  with  calm  gaze,  or  with  a  flashing  eye, 
To  speak  with  a  full  and  sonorous  voice,  out  of  a  broad 

chest, 

To  confront  with  your  personality  all  the  other  person 
alities  of  the  earth. 

14 

35  Know'st  thou  the  excellent  joys  of  youth  ? 

Joys  of  the  dear  companions,  and  of  the  merry  word, 

and  laughing  face  ? 
Joys  of  the  glad,  light-beaming  day — joy  of  the  wide- 

breath'd  games  ? 
Joy  of  sweet  music — joy  of  the  lighted  ball-room,  and 

the  dancers? 
Joy   of   the    friendly,    plenteous    dinner — the    strong 

carouse,  and  drinking  ? 

15 

6  Yet,  O  my  soul  supreme ! 
Know'st  thou  the  joys  of  pensive  thought? 
Joys  of    the   free    and   lonesome    heart — the  tender, 

gloomy  heart  ? 
Joy  of  the  solitary  walk — the  spirit  bowed  yet  proud — 

the  suffering  and  the  struggle  ? 


POEM  OF  JOYS.  51 

The  agonistic  throes,  the  extasies  —  joys  of  the  solemn 

musings,  day  or  night  ? 
Joys  of  the  thought  of  Death  —  the  great  spheres  Time 

and  Space  ? 
Prophetic  joys  of  better,  loftier  love's  ideals  —  the  Di 

vine  Wife—  the  sweet,  eternal,  perfect  Comrade  ? 
Joys  all  thine  own,  undying  one  —  joys  worthy  thee,  O 

Soul. 


16 

37  O,  while  I  live,  to  be  the  ruler  of  life  —  not  a  slave, 
To  meet  life  as  a  powerful  conqueror, 
No  fumes  —  no  ennui  —  no  more  complaints,  or  scornful 
criticisms. 

33  O  me  repellent  and  ugly  ! 

To  these  proud  laws  of  the  air,  the  water,  and  the 
ground,  proving  my  interior  Soul  impregnable, 
And  nothing  exterior  shall  ever  take  command  of  me. 

39  O  to  attract  by  more  than  attraction  ! 

How  it  is  I  know  not  —  yet  behold!   the    something 

which  obeys  none  of  the  rest, 
It  is  offensive,  never  defensive—  yet  how  magnetic  it 

draws. 


17 

40  O  joy  of  suffering ! 

To  struggle  against  great  odds !  to  meet  enemies  un 
daunted  ! 

To  be  entirely  alone  with  them  !  to  find  how  much  one 
can  stand ! 

To  look  strife,  torture,  prison,  popular  odium,  death, 
face  to  face ! 

To  mount  the  scaffold !  to  advance  to  the  muzzles  of 
guns  with  perfect  nonchalance  ! 

To  be  indeed  a  G-od ! 


52  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

18 

11  O,  to  sail  to  sea  in  a  ship ! 

To  leave  this  steady,  unendurable  land  ! 

To  leave  the  tiresome  sameness  of  the  streets,  the  side 
walks  and  the  houses ; 

To  leave  you,  O  you  solid  motionless  land,  and  entering 
a  ship, 

To  sail,  and  sail,  and  sail ! 

19 

42  O  to  have  my  life  henceforth  a  poem  of  new  joys ! 
To  dance,  clap  hands,  exult,  shout,  skip,  leap,  roll  on, 

float  on, 

To  be  a  sailor  of  the  world,  bound  for  all  ports, 
A  ship  itself,  (see  indeed  these  sails  I  spread  to  the  sun 

and  air,) 
A  swift  and  swelling  ship,  full  of  rich  words — full  of 


To  THINK  OF  TIME. 


1  To  think  of  time — of  all  that  retrospection  ! 

To  think  of  to-day,  and  the  ages  continued  hencefor 
ward! 

2  Have  you  guess'd  you  yourself  would  not  continue  ? 
Have  you  dreaded  these  earth-beetles  ? 

Have  you  f ear'd  the  future  would  be  nothing  to  you  ? 

3  Is  to-day  nothing  ?     Is  the  beginningless  past  noth 

ing? 
If  the  future  is  nothing,  they  are  just  as  surely  nothing. 


4  To  think  that  the  sun  rose  in  the  east !  that  men  and 
women  were  flexible,  real,  alive !  that  everything 
was  alive ! 

To  think  that  you  and  I  did  not  see,  feel,  think,  nor 
bear  our  part ! 

To  think  that  we  are  now  here,  and  bear  our  part ! 


5  Not  a  day  passes — not  a  minute  or  second,  without  an 

accouchement ! 

Not  a  day  passes — not  a  minute  or  second,  without  a 
corpse ! 

6  The  dull  nights  go  over,  and  the  dull  days  also, 
The  soreness  of  lying  so  much  in  bed  goes  over, 

The  physician,  after  long  putting  off,  gives  the  silent 
and  terrible  look  for  an  answer, 


54  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

The  children  come  hurried  and  weeping,  and  the  broth 
ers  and  sisters  are  sent  for, 

Medicines  stand  unused  on  the  shelf— (the  camphor- 
smell  has  long  pervaded  the  rooms,) 

The  faithful  hand  of  the  living  does  not  desert  the  hand 
of  the  dying, 

The  twitching  lips  press  lightly  on  the  forehead  of  the 
dying, 

The  breath  ceases,  and  the  pulse  of  the  heart  ceases, 

The  corpse  stretches  on  the  bed,  and  the  living  look 
upon  it, 

It  is  palpable  as  the  living  are  palpable. 

7  The  living  look  upon  the  corpse  with  their  eye-sight, 
But  without  eye-sight  lingers  a  different  living,  and 
looks  curiously  on  the  corpse. 


8  To  think  the  thought  of  Death,  merged  in  the  thought 

of  materials ! 
To  think  that  the  rivers  will  flow,  and  the  snow  fall, 

and  fruits  ripen,-  and  act  upon  others  as  upon  us 
'  now — yet  not  act  upon  us  ! 
To  think  of  all  these  wonders  of  city  and  country,  and 

others  taking  great  interest  in  them — and  we 

taking  no  interest  in  them  ! 

9  To  think  how  eager  we  are  in  building  our  houses  ! 
To  think  others  shall  be  just  as  eager,  and  we  quite 

indifferent ! 

10  (I  see  one  building  the  house  that  serves  him  a  few 

years,  or  seventy  or  eighty  years  at  most, 
I  see  one  building  the  house  that  serves  him  longer 
than  that.) 

11  Slow-moving  and  black  lines  creep  over  the  whole 

earth — they  never    cease — they   are   the   burial 
lines, 

He  that  was  President  was  buried,  and  he  that  is  now 
President  shall  surely  be  buried. 


To  THINK  OF  TIME.  55 


12  A  reminiscence  of  the  vulgar  fate, 

A  frequent  sample  of  tlie  life  and  death  of  workmen, 

Each  after  his  kind  : 

Cold  dash  of  waves  at  the  ferry-wharf — posh  and  ice  in 

the  river,  half-frozen  mud  in  the  streets,  a  gray 

discouraged  sky  overhead,  the  short  last  daylight 

of  Twelfth-month, 
A  hearse  and  stages — other  vehicles  give  place — the 

funeral  of   an   old  Broadway  stage-driver,  the 

cortege  mostly  drivers. 

13  Steady  the   trot  to   the   cemetery,  duly  rattles  the 

death-bell,  the  gate  is  pass'd,  the  new-dug  grave 
is  halted  at,  the  living  alight,  the  hearse  uncloses, 
The  coffin  is  pass'd  out,  lower'd  and  settled,  the  whip  is 
laid  on  the  coffin,  the  earth  is  swiftly  shovel'd  in, 
The  mound  above  is  flatted  with  the  spades — silence, 
A  minute — no  one  moves  or  speaks — it  is  done, 
He  is  decently  put  away — is  there  anything  more  ? 

14  He  was  a  good  fellow,  free-mouth'd,  quick-temper'd, 

not  bad-looking,  able  to  take  his  own  part,  witty, 
sensitive  to  a  slight,  ready  with  life  or  death  for 
a  friend,  fond  of  women,  gambled,  ate  hearty, 
drank  hearty,  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  flush, 
grew  low-spirited  toward  the  last,  sicken'd,  was 
help'd  by  a  contribution,  died,  aged  forty-one 
years — and  that  was  his  funeral. 

15  Thumb  extended,  finger  uplifted,  apron,  cape,  gloves, 

strap,  wet-weather  clothes,  whip  carefully  chosen, 
boss,  spotter,  starter,  hostler,  somebody  loafing 
on  you,  you  loafing  on  somebody,  headway,  man 
before  and  man  behind,  good  day's  work,  bad 
day's  work,  pet  stock,  mean  stock,  first  out,  last 
out,  turning-in  at  night ; 

To  think  that  these  are  so  much  and  so  nigh  to  other 
drivers — and  he  there  takes  no  interest  in  them ! 


56  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


16  The    markets,    the   government,   the   working-man's 

wages — to  think  what  account  they  are  through 
our  nights  and  days  ! 

To  think  that  "other  working-men  will  make  just  as 
great  account  of  them — yet  we-  make  little  or  no 
account ! 

17  The  vulgar  and  the  refined — what  you  call  sin,  and 

what  you  call  goodness — to  think  how  wide  a 
difference ! 

To  think  the  difference  will  still  continue  to  others,  yet 
we  lie  beyond  the  difference. 

18  To  think  how  much  pleasure  there  is ! 

Have  you  pleasure  from  looking  at  the  sky  ?  have  you 
pleasure  from  poems  ? 

Do  you  enjoy  yourself  in  the  city?  or  engaged  in  busi 
ness  ?  or  planning  a  nomination  and  election  ? 
or  with  your  wife  and  family? 

Or  with  your  mother  and  sisters  ?  or  in  womanly  house 
work  ?  or  the  beautiful  maternal  cares  ? 

— These  also  flow  onward  to  others — you  and  I  now 
onward, 

But  in  due  time,  you  and  I  shall  take  less  interest  in 
them. 

19  Your  farm,  profits,  crops, — to  think  how  engross'd 

you  are ! 

To  think  there  will  still  be  farms,  profits,  crops — yet  for 
you,  of  what  avail  ? 

G 

20  What  will  be,  will  be  well — for  what  is,  is  well, 

To  take  interest  is  well,  and  not  to  take  interest  shall 
be  well. 

21  The  sky  continues  beautiful, 

The  pleasure  of  men  with  women  shall  never  be  sated, 
nor  the  pleasure  of  women  with  men,  nor  the 
pleasure  from  poems, 


To  THINK  or  TIME.  57 

The  domestic  joys,  the  daily  housework  or  business,  the 

building  of  houses — these  are  not  phantasms — 

they  have  weight,  form,  location  ; 
Farms,  profits,  crops,  markets,  wages,  government,  are 

none  of  them  phantasms, 

The  difference  between  sin  and  goodness  is  no  delusion, 
The  earth  is  not  an  echo — man  and  his  life,  and  all  the 

things  of  his  life,  are  well-consider'd. 

22  You  are  not  thrown  to  the  winds — you  gather  cer 
tainly  and  safely  around  yourself  ; 
Yourself !  Yourself !  Yourself,  forever  and  ever  ! 


23  It  is  not  to  diffuse  you  that  you  were  born  of  your 

mother  and  father — it  is  to  identify  you  ; 
It  is  not  that  you  should  be  undecided,  but  that  you 

should  be  decided  ; 
Something  long  preparing  and  formless  is  arrived  and 

form'd  in  you, 
You  are  henceforth  secure,  whatever  comes  or  goes. 

24  The  threads  that  were  spun  are  gather'd,  the  weft 

crosses  the  warp,  the  pattern  is  systematic. 

25  The  preparations  have  every  one  been  justified, 

The  orchestra  have  sufficiently  tuned  their  instruments 
— the  baton  has  given  the  signal. 

26  The  guest  that  was  coining — he  waited  long,  for  rea 

sons — he  is  now  housed, 

He  is  one  of  those  who  are  beautiful  and  happy — he  is 
one  of  those  that  to  look  upon  and  be  with  is 
enough. 

27  The  law  of  the  past  cannot  be  eluded, 

The  law  of  the  present  and  future  cannot  be  eluded, 
The  law  of  the  living  cannot  be  eluded — it  is  eternal, 
The  law  of  promotion  and  transformation  cannot  be 
eluded, 


58  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

The  law  of  heroes  and  good-doers  cannot  be  eluded, 
The  law  of  drunkards,  informers,  mean  persons — not 
one  iota  thereof  can  be  eluded. 

8 

28  Slow  moving  and  black  lines  go  ceaselessly  over  the 
earth, 

Northerner  goes  carried,  and  Southerner  goes  carried, 
and  they  on  the  Atlantic  side,  and  they  on  the 
Pacific,  and  they  between,  and  all  through  the 
Mississippi  country,  and  all  over  the  earth. 

!9  The  great  masters  and  kosmos  are  well  as  they  go — 
the  heroes  and  good-doers  are  well, 

The  known  leaders  and  inventors,  and  the  rich  owners 
and  pious  and  distinguish'^,  may  be  well, 

But  there  is  more  account  than  that — there  is  strict 
account  of  all. 

30  The  interminable  hordes  of  the  ignorant  and  wicked 

are  not  nothing, 

The  barbarians  of  Africa  and  Asia  are  not  nothing, 
The  common  people  of  Europe  are  not  nothing — the 

American  aborigines  are  not  nothing, 
The  infected  in  the  immigrant  hospital  are  not  nothing 

— the  murderer  or  mean  person  is  not  nothing, 
The  perpetual  successions  of  shallow  people  are  not 

nothing  as  they  go, 
The  lowest  prostitute  is  not  nothing — the  mocker  of 

religion  is  not  nothing  as  he  goes. 

9 

31  Of  and  in  all  these  things, 

I  have  dream'd  that  we  are  not  to  be  changed  so  much, 

nor  the  law  of  us  changed, 
I  have  dream'd  that  heroes  and  good-doers  shall  be 

under  the  present  and  past  law, 
And  that  murderers,  drunkards,  liars,  shall  be  under 

the  present  and  past  law, 
For  I  have  dream'd  that  the  law  they  are  under  now  is 

enough. 


To  THINK  OF  TIME.  59 

32  If  otherwise,  all  came  but  to  ashes  of  dung, 

If  maggots  and  rats  ended  us,  then  Alarum !  for  we  are 

betray'd ! 
Then  indeed  suspicion  of  death. 

33  Do  you  suspect  death  ?  If  I  were  to  suspect  death,  I 

should  die  now, 

Do  you  think  I  could  walk  pleasantly  and  well-suited 
toward  annihilation  ? 

10 

34  Pleasantly  and  well-suited  I  walk, 

Whither  I  walk  I  cannot  define,  but  I  know  it  is  good, 
The  whole  universe  indicates  that  it  is  good, 
The  past  and  the  present  indicate  that  it  is  good. 

35  How  beautiful  and  perfect  are  the  animals  ! 

How  perfect  the  earth,  and  the  minutest  thing  upon  it ! 
What  is  called  good  is  perfect,  and  what  is  called  bad  is 

just  as  perfect, 
The  vegetables  and  minerals  are  all  perfect3  and  the 

imponderable  fluids  are  perfect ; 
Slowly  and  surely  they  have  pass'd  on  to  this,  and 

slowly  and  surely  they  yet  pass  on. 

11 

38  I  swear  I  think  now  that  everything  without  excep 
tion  has  an  eternal  Soul ! 

The  trees  have,  rooted  in  the  ground  !  the  weeds  of  the 
sea  have !  the  animals ! 

37  I  swear  I  think  there  is  nothing  but  immortality ! 
That  the  exquisite  scheme  is  for  it,  and  the  nebulous 

float  is  for.it,  and  the  cohering  is  for  it ; 
And  all  preparation  is  for  it !  and  identity  is  for  it !  and 

life  and  materials  are  altogether  for  it ! 


60  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

CHANTING   THE  SQUARE  DEIFIC. 


CHANTING  the  square  deific,  out  of  the  One  advancing, 

out  of  the  sides  ; 
Out  of  the  old  and  new — out  of  the  square  entirely 

divine. 
Solid,  four-sided,    (all  the  sides   needed) . . .  from  this 

side  JEHOVAH  am  I, 
Old  Brahm  I,  and  I  Saturnius  am  ; 
Not  Time  affects  me — I  am  Time,  old,  modern  as  any  ; 
Unpersuadable,   relentless,    executing  righteous  judg 
ments  ; 
As  the  Earth,  the  Father,  the  brown  old  Kronos,  with 

laws, 
Aged  beyond  computation — yet  ever  new — ever  with 

those  mighty  laws  rolling, 
Relentless,  I  forgive  no  man — whoever  sins,  dies — I  will 

have  that  man's  life  ; 
Therefore  let  none   expect  mercy — Have   the  seasons, 

gravitation,    the    appointed   days,   mercy? — No 

more  have  I  ; 
But  as  the  seasons,   and  gravitation — and  as   all  the 

appointed  days,  that  forgive  not, 
I  dispense  from  this  side  judgments  inexorable,  without 

the  least  remorse. 


Consolator  most  mild,  the  promis'd  one  advancing, 
With  gentle  hand  extended — the  mightier  God  am  I, 
Foretold  by  prophets   and  poets,  in   their  most  rapt 

prophecies  and  poems  ; 
From  this  side,  lo  !  the 'Lord  CHRIST  gazes — lo  !  Hermes 

I — lo !  mine  is  Hercules'  face  ; 

All  sorrow,  labor,  suffering,  I,  tallying  it,  absorb  in  my 
self  ; 

Many  times  have  I  been  rejected,  taunted,  put  in  prison, 
and  crucified — and  many  times  shall  be  again  ; 


CHANTING  THE  SQUARE  DEIFIC.  61 

All  the  world  have  I  given  up  for  my  dear  brothers' 
and  sisters'  sake — for  the  soul's  sake  ; 

^Vending  my  way  through  the  homes  of  men,  rich  or 
poor,  with  the  kiss  of  affection  ; 

For  I  am  affection — I  am  the  cheer-bringiDg  God,  with 
hope,  and  all-enclosing  Charity  ; 

(Conqueror  yet — for  before  me  all  the  armies  and  sol 
diers  of  the  earth  shall  yet  bow — and  all  the 
weapons  of  war  become  impotent  :) 

With  indulgent  words,  as  to  children — with  fresh  and 
sane  words,  mine  only  ; 

Young  and  strong  I  pass,  knowing  well  I  am  destin'd 
myself  to  an  early  death  : 

But  my  Charity  has  no  death — my  Wisdom  dies  not, 
neither  early  nor  late, 

And  my  sweet  Love,  bequeath'd  here  and  elsewhere, 
never  dies. 

3 

Aloof,  dissatisfied,  plotting  revolt, 

Comrade  of  criminals,  brother  of  slaves, 

Crafty,  despised,  a  drudge,  ignorant, 

With  sudra  face  and  worn  brow,  black,  but  in  the  depths 

of  my  heart,  proud  as  any  ; 
Lifted,  now  and  always,    against  whoever,    scorning, 

assumes  to  rule  me  ; 
Morose,  full  of  guile,  full  of  reminiscences,  brooding, 

with  many  wiles, 
(Though  it  was  thought  I  was  baffled  and  dispell'd, 

and  my  wiles  done — but  that  will  never  be  ;) 
Defiant,  I,  SATAN,  still  live — still   utter  words — in  new 

lands  duly  appearing,  (and  old  ones  also  ;) 
Permanent  here,  from  my  side,  warlike,  equal  with  any, 

real  as  any, 
Nor  time,  nor  change,  shall  ever  change  me  or  my  words. 


Santa  SPIEITA,  breather,  life, 
Beyond  the  light,  lighter  than  light, 


62  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

Beyond  the  flames  of  hell — joyous,  leaping  easily  above 

hell ; 
Beyond    Paradise — perfumed   solely  •with    mine    own 

perfume  ; 
Including  all  life  on  earth — touching,  including  God — 

including  Saviour  and  Satan  ; 
Ethereal,  pervading  all,  (for  without  me,  what  were  all  ? 

what  were  God?) 
Essence  of  forms — life  of  the  real  identities,  permanent, 

positive,  (namely  the  unseen,) 
Life  of  the  great  round  world,  the  sun  and  stars,  and  of 

man — I,  the  general  Soul, 

Here  the  square  finishing,  the  solid,  I  the  most  solid, 
Breathe  my  breath  also  through  these  songs. 


WHISPERS 

OF 

HEAVENLY    DEATH. 

WHISPERS  OF  HEAVENLY  DEATH. 

1  WHISPEES  of  heavenly  death,  murmur'd  I  hear ; 
Labial  gossip  of  night — sibilant  chorals  ; 

Footsteps  gently  ascending — mystical  breezes,  wafted 

soft  and  low  ; 
Ripples  of  unseen  rivers — tides  of  a  current,  flowing, 

forever  flowing ; 
(Or  is  it  the  plashing  of  tears  ?  the  measureless  waters 

of  human  tears  ?) 

2  I  see,  just  see,  skyward,  great  cloud-masses  ; 
Mournfully,  slowly  they  roll,  silently  swelling  and  mix 
ing  ; 

With,  at  times,  a  half-dimm'd,  sadden'd,  far-off  star, 
Appearing  and  disappearing. 


3  (Some    parturition,  rather — some  solemn,  immortal 

birth  : 

On  the  frontiers,  to  eyes  impenetrable, 
Some  Soul  is  passing  over.) 


64:  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

BAREST  THOU  NOW,  O  SOUL. 

i 

DAKEST  thou  now,  O  Soul, 

Walk  out  with  me  toward  the  Unknown  Kegion, 
Where  neither  ground  is  for  the  feet,  nor  any  path  to 
follow  ? 

2 

No  map,  there,  nor  guide, 

Nor  voice  sounding,  nor  touch  of  human  hand, 
Nor  face  with  blooming  flesh,  nor  lips,  nor  eyes,  are  in 
that  land. 

3 

I  know  it  not,  O  Soul ; 
Nor  dost  thou — all  is  a  blank  before  us  ; 
All  waits,  undream'd  of,  in  that  region — that  inaccessi 
ble  land. 


Till,  when  the  ties  loosen, 
All  but  the  ties  eternal,  Time  and  Space, 
Nor  darkness,  gravitation,  sense,  nor  any  bounds,  bound 
us. 

5 

Then  we  burst  forth — we  float, 
In  Time  and  Space,  O  Soul — prepared  for  them  ; 
Equal,  equipt  at  last — (O  joy !  O  fruit  of  all !)  them  to 
fulfil,  O  Soul. 


OF  HIM  I  LOVE  DAY  AND  NIGHT. 

Or  him  I  love  day  and  night,  I  dream'd  I  heard  he  was 
dead ; 

And  I  dream'd  I  went  where  they  had  buried  him  I 
love — but  he  was  not  in  that  place  ; 

And  I  dream'd  I  wrander'd,  searching  among  burial- 
places,  to  find  him  ; 


WHISPERS  OF  HEAVENLY  DEATH.  65 

And  I  found  that  every  place  was  a  burial  place  ; 

The  houses  full  of  life  were  equally  full  of  death,  (this 

house  is  now ;) 
The  streets,  the  shipping,  the  places  of  amusement,  the 

Chicago,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  the  Mannahatta, 

were  as  full  of  the  dead  as  of  the  living, 
And  fuller,  O  vastly  fuller,  of  the  dead  than  of  the 

living ; 
— And  what  I  dream'd  I  will  henceforth  tell  to  every 

person  and  age, 

And  I  stand  henceforth  bound  to  what  I  dream'd  ; 
And  now  I  am  willing  to  disregard  burial-places,  and 

dispense  with  them  ; 

And  if  the  memorials  of  the  dead  were  put  up  indiffer 
ently  everywhere,  even  in  the  room  where  I  eat 

or  sleep,  I  should  be  satisfied  ; 
And  if  the  corpse  of  any  one  I  love,  or  if  my  own  corpse, 

be  duly  render'd  to  powder,  and  pour'd  in  the 

sea,  I  shall  be  satisfied  ; 
Or  if  it  be  distributed  to  the  winds,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 


ASSURANCES. 

I  NEED  no  assurances — I  am  a  man  who  is  preoccupied, 
of  his  own  Soul ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  from  under  the  feet,  and  beside  the 
hands  and  face  I  am  cognizant  of,  are  now  look 
ing  faces  I  am  not  cognizant  of — calm  and  actual 
faces  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  but  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  the-world 
are  latent  in  any  iota  of  the  world  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  I  am  limitless,  and  that  the  universes 
are  limitless — in  vain  I  try  to  think  how  limitless  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  the  orbs,  and  the  systems  of  orbs, 
play  their  swift  sports  through  the  air  on  pur 
pose — and  that  I  shall  one  day  be  eligible  to  do 
as  much  as  they,  and  more  than  they  ; 


66  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  temporary  affairs  keep  on  and  on, 
millions  of  years  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  interiors  have  their  interiors,  and  exte 
riors  have  their  exteriors — and  that  the  eye-sight 
has  another  eye-sight,  and  the  hearing  another 
hearing,  and  the  voice  another  voice  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  the  passionately-wept  deaths  of 
young  men  are  provided  for — and  that  the  deaths 
of  young  women,  and  the  deaths  of  little  children, 
are  provided  for  ; 

(Did  you  think  Life  was  so  well  provided  for — and 
Death,  the  purport  of  all  Life,  is  not  well  pro 
vided  for  ?) 

I  do  not  doubt  that  wrecks  at  sea,  no  matter  what  the 
horrors  of  them — no  matter  whose  wife,  child, 
husband,  father,  lover,  has  gone  down,  are  pro 
vided  for,  to  the  minutest  points  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  whatever  can  possibly  happen,  any 
where,  at  any  time,  is  provided  for,  in  the  inher 
ences  of  things ; 

I  do  not  think  Life  provides  for  all,  and  for  Time  and 
Space — but  I  believe  Heavenly  Death  provides 
for  all. 


YET,  YET,  YE  DOWNCAST  HOURS. 


YET,  yet,  ye  downcast  hours,  I  know  ye  also  ; 
Weights  of  lead,  how  ye  clog  and  cling  at  my  ankles ! 
Earth  to  a  chamber  of  mourning  turns — I  hear  the 

o'erweening,  mocking  voice, 
Matter  is  conqueror — matter,  triumphant  only,  continues 

onward. 


Despairing  cries  float  ceaselessly  toward  me, 
The  call  of  my  nearest  lover,  putting  forth,  alarm'd, 
uncertain, 


WHISPEKS  OF  HEAVENLY  DEATH.  67 

The  Sea  I  am  quickly  to  sail,  come  tell  me, 

Come  tell  me  where  I  am  speeding — tell  me  my  destination. 


I  understand  your  anguish,  but  I  cannot  help  you, 

I  approach,  hear,  behold — the  sad  mouth,  the  look  out 

of  the  eyes,  your  mute  inquiry, 
Wliither  I  go  from  the  bed  I  recline  on,  come  tell  me: 
Old  age,  alarm'd,  uncertain — A  young  woman's  voice, 

appealing  to  me  for  comfort ; 
A  young  man's  voice,  Shall  I  not  escape  ? 


QUICKSAND   YEARS. 

QUICKSAND  years  that  whirl  me  I  know  not  whither, 

Your  schemes,  politics,  fail — lines  give  way — substances 
mock  and  elude  me  ; 

Only  the  theme  I  sing,  the  great  and  strong-possess'd 
Soul,  eludes  not ; 

One's-self  must  never  give  way — that  is  the  final  sub 
stance — that  out  of  all  is  sure  ; 

Out  of  politics,  triumphs,  battles,  life — what  at  last 
finally  remains  ? 

When  shows  break  up,  what  but  One's-Self  is  sure  ? 


THAT  MUSIC  ALWAYS  ROUND  ME. 

THAT  music  always  round  me,  unceasing,  unbeginning 
— yet  long  untaught  I  did  not  hear  ; 

But  now  the  chorus  I  hear,  and  am  elated  ; 

A  tenor,  strong,  ascending,  with  power  and  health,  with 
glad  notes  of  day-break  I  hear, 

A  soprano,  at  intervals,  sailing  buoyantly  over  the  tops 
of  immense  waves, 


68  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

A  transparent  base,  shuddering  lusciously  under  and 

through  the  universe, 
The  triumphant  tutti — the  funeral  waitings,  with  sweet 

flutes  and  violins — all  these  I  fill  myself  with  ; 
I  hear  not  the  volumes  of  sound  merely — I  am  moved 

by  the  exquisite  meanings, 
I  listen  to  the  different  voices  winding  in  and  out, 

striving,    contending  with   fiery  vehemence  to 

excel  each  other  in  emotion  ; 
I  do  not  think  the  performers  know  themselves — but 

now  I  think  I  begin  to  know  them. 


AS  IF  A  PHANTOM  CARESS'D  ME. 

As  if  a  phantom  caress'd  me, 

I  thought  I  was  not  alone,  walking  here  by  the  shore  ; 

But  the  one  I  thought  was  with  me,  as  now  I  walk  by 

the  shore — the  one  I  loved,  that  caress'd  me, 
As  I  lean  and  look  through  the  glimmering  light — that 

one  has  utterly  disappear'd, 
And  those  appear  that  are  hateful  to  me,  and  mock  me. 


HERE,  SAILOR! 
WHAT  ship,  puzzled  at  sea,  cons  for  the  true  reckon 


ing? 


Or,  coming  in,  to  avoid  the  bars,  and  follow  the  chan 
nel,  a  perfect  pilot  needs  ? 

Here,  sailor !  Here,  ship  !  take  aboard  the  most  perfect 
pilot, 

Whom,  in  a  little  boat,  putting  off,  and  rowing,  I, 
hailing  you,  offer. 


WHISPERS  OF  HEAVENLY  DEATH.  69 

A  NOIS.ELESS,  PATIENT  SPIDER. 

1  A  NOISELESS  patient  spider, 

1  mark'd,   where,    on   a  little    promontory,   it   stood, 

isolated ; 

Mark'd  how,  to  explore  the  vacant,  vast  surrounding, 
It  launch'd  forth  filament,   filament,    filament,    out  of 

itself  ; 
Ever  unreeling  them — ever  tirelessly  speeding  them. 

2  And  you,  O  my  Soul,  where  you  stand, 
Surrounded,    surrounded,    in    measureless    oceans   of 

space, 
Ceaselessly  musing,  venturing,  throwing, — seeking  the 

spheres,  to  connect  them  ; 
Till  the  bridge  you  will  need,  be  form'd — till  the  ductile 

anchor  hold  ; 
Till  the  gossamer  thread  you  fling,  catch  somewhere, 

O  my  Soul. 


THE   LAST  INVOCATION. 

i 

AT  the  last,  tenderly, 

From  the  walls  of  the  powerful,  fortress'd  house, 
From  the  clasp  of  the  knitted  locks — from  the  keep  of 

the  well-closed  doors, 
Let  me  be  wafted. 


Let  me  glide  noiselessly  forth  ; 

With  the  key   of  softness  unlock  the  locks — with   a 

whisper, 
Set  ope  the  doors,  O  Soul ! 

3 

Tenderly  !  be  not  impatient ! 
(Strong  is  your  hold,  O  mortal  flesh  ! 


xenaeriy  i  oe  not  impatient 
(Strong  is  your  hold,  O  moi 
Strong  is  your  hold,  O  love 


70  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


AS   I  WATCH'D   THE   PLOUGHMAN   PLOUGH 
ING. 

As  I  watch'd  the  ploughman  ploughing, 

Or  the  sower  sowing  in  the  fields — or  the  harvester 
harvesting, 

I  saw  there  too,  O  life  and  death,  your  analogies  : 

(Life,  life  is  the  tillage,  and  Death  is  the  harvest  accord 
ing.) 


PENSIVE  AND  FALTERING. 

PENSIVE  and  faltering, 

The  words,  the  dead,  I  write  ; 

For  living  are  the  Dead  ; 

(Haply  the  only  living,  only  real, 

And  I  the  apparition — I  the  spectre.) 


SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES. 


OUT    OF    THE    CRADLE    ENDLESSLY 
ROCKING. 


1  OUT  of  the  cradle  endlessly  rocking, 
Out  of  the  mocking-bird's  throat,  the  musical  shuttle, 
Out  of  the  Ninth-month  midnight, 
Over  the  sterile  sands,  and  the  fields  beyond,  where  the 
child,   leaving  his   bed,  wander'd   alone,   bare 
headed,  barefoot, 
Down  from  the  shower'd  halo, 

Up  from  the  mystic  play  of  shadows,  twining  and  twist 
ing  as  if  they  were  alive, 

Out  from  the  patches  of  briers  and  blackberries, 
From  the  memories  of  the  bird  that  chanted  to  me, 
From  your   memories,   sad    brother — from   the   fitful 

risings  and  fallings  I  heard, 
From  under    that    yellow  half-moon,  late-risen,   and 

swollen  as  if  with  tears, 
From  those  beginning  notes  of  sickness  and  love,  there 

in  the  transparent  mist, 
From  the  thousand  responses  of  my  heart,  never  to 

cease, 

From  the  myriad  thence-arous'd  words, 
From  the  word  stronger  and  more  delicious  than  any, 
From  such,  as  now  they  start,  the  scene  revisiting, 
As  a  flock,  twittering,  rising,  or  overhead  passing, 
Borne  hither — ere  all  eludes  me,  hurriedly, 
A  man — yet  by  these  tears  a  little  boy  again, 


72  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

Throwing  myself  on  the  sand,  confronting  the  waves, 
I,  chanter  of  pains  and  joys,  uniter  of  here  and  hereafter, 
Taking    all    hints   to   use   them — but   swiftly  leaping 

beyond  them, 
A  reminiscence  sing. 


2  Once,  Paumanok, 

When  the  snows  had  melted — when  the  lilac-scent  was 

in    the    air,   and    the    Fifth-month    grass  was 

growing, 

Up  this  sea-shore,  in  some  briers, 
Two  guests  from  Alabama — two  together, 
And  their  nest,  and  four  light-green  eggs,  spotted  with 

brown, 

And  every  day  the  he-bird,  to  and  fro,  near  at  hand, 
And  every  day  the  she-bird,  crouch'd  on  her  nest,  silent, 

with  bright  eyes, 
And  every  day  I,  a  curious  boy,  never  too  close,  never 

disturbing  them, 
Cautiously  peering,  absorbing,  translating. 

3 

3  Shine!  shine!  shine/ 

Pour  down  your  ivarmih,  great  Sun  ! 
While  we  bask— we  two  together. 

4  Two  together! 

Winds  blow  South,  or  winds  How  North, 
Day  come  white,  or  night  come  black, 
Home,  or  rivers  and  mountains  from  home, 
Singing  all  time,  minding  no  time, 
While  we  two  keep  together. 

4 

5  Till  of  a  sudden, 

May-be  kill'd,  unknown  to  her  mate, 

One  forenoon  the  she-bird  crouch'd  not  on  the  nest, 

Nor  return'd  that  afternoon,  nor  the  next, 

Nor  ever  appear'd  again. 


SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES.  73 

6  And  thenceforward,  all  summer,  in  the  sound  of  the 
sea. 

And  at  night,  under  the  full  of  the  moon,  in  calmer 
weather, 

Over  the  hoarse  surging  of  the  sea, 

Or  flitting  from  brier  to  brier  by  day, 

I  saw,  I  heard  at  intervals,  the  remaining  one,  the  he- 
bird, 

The  solitary  guest  from  Alabama. 


1  Blow!  blow!  blow! 

Blow  up,  sea-winds,  along  PaumanoTc's  shore  ! 

I  wait  and  I  wait,  till  you  blow  my  mate  to  me. 


6 

8  Yes,  when  tjie  stars  glisten'd, 

All  night  long,  on  the  prong  of  a  moss-scallop'd  stake, 

Down,  almost  amid  the  slapping  waves, 

Sat  the  lone  singer,  wonderful,  causing  tears. 

9  He  call'd  on  his  mate  ; 

He  pour'd  forth  the  meanings  which  I,  of  all  men,  know. 

"  Yes,  my  brother,  I  know  ; 

The  rest  might  not — but  I  have  treasur'd  every  note  ; 
For  once,  and  more  than  once,  dimly,  down  to  the 

beach  gliding, 
Silent,  avoiding  the  moonbeams,  blending  myself  with 

the  shadows, 
Recalling  now   the    obscure  shapes,   the   echoes,   the 

sounds  and  sights  after  their  sorts, 
The  white  arms  out  in  the  breakers  tirelessly  tossing, 
I,  with  bare  feet,  a  child,  the  wind  wafting  my  hair, 
Listened  long  and  long. 

11  Listen'd,  to  keep,  to  sing — now  translating  the  notes, 
Following  you,  my  brother, 
4 


74  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

7 

12  Soothe!  soothe!  soothe! 

Close  on  its  wave  soothes  the  wave  behind, 

And  again  another  behind,  embracing  and  lapping,  every 

one  close, 
But  my  love  soothes  not  me,  not  me. 

13  Low  hangs  the  moon — it  rose  late  ; 

0  it  is  lagging — 0  I  think  it  is  heavy  with  love,  with  love. 

14  0  madly  the  sea  pushes,  pushes  upon  the  land, 
With  love — with  love. 

15  0  night !  do  I  not  see  my  love  fluttering  out  there  among 

the  breakers  ? 
WJiat  is  that  little  black  thing  I  see  there  in  the  white  f 

16  Loud!  loud!  loud! 
Loud  1  call  to  you,  my  love  ! 

High  and  clear  1  shoot  my  voice  over  the  waves  ; 
Surely  you  must  know  who  is  here,  is  here  ; 
You  must  know  who  I  am,  my  love. 

17  Low-hanging  moon  ! 

What  is  that  dusky  spot  in  your  brown  yellow? 

0  it  is  the  shape,  the  shape  of  my  mate  I 

0  moon,  do  not  keep  her  from  me  any  longer. 

18  Land!  land!  Oland! 

Whichever  way  I  turn,  0  I  think  you  could  give  me  my 

mate  back  again,  if  you  only  would  ; 
For  lam  almost  sure  I  see  her  dimly  whichever  way  I  look. 

19  0  rising  stars  ! 

Perhaps  the  one  I  want  so  much  will  rise,  will  rise  with 
some  of  you. 

20  0  throat  !  0  trembling  throat  ! 
Sound  clearer  through  the  atmosphere  ! 
Pierce  the  woods,  the  earth  ; 

Somewhere  listening  to  catch  you,  must  be  the  one  I  want. 


SEA-SHOEE  MEMORIES.  75 

21  •  Shake  out,  carols  ! 

Solitary  here — the  night's  carols  ! 

Carols  of  lonesome  love  !  Death's  carols  ! 

Carols  under  that  lagging,  yellow,  waning  moon  ! 

0,  under  that  moon,  where  she  droops  almost  down  into  the 

sea  ! 
0  reckless,  despairing  carols. 

22  But  soft !  sink  low  ; 
Soft !  let  me  just  murmur  ; 

And  do  you  wait  a  moment,  you  husky-noised  sea  ; 

For  somewhere  I  believe  I  heard  my  mate  responding  to 
me, 

So  faint — I  must  be  still,  be  still  to  listen  ; 

But  not  altogether  still,  for  then  she  might  not  come  imme 
diately  to  me. 

23  B-ither,  my  low  ! 
Here  I  am  I  Here  I 

With  this  just-sustain' d  note  I  announce  myself  to  you  ; 
TJiis  gentle  call  is  for  you,  my  love,  for  you. 

24  Do  not  be  decoy'd  elsewhere  ! 

That  is  the  whistle  of  the  wind — it  is  not  my  voice  ; 
That  is  the  fluttering,  the  fluttering  of  the  spray  ; 
TJiose  are  the  shadows  of  leaves. 

25  0  darkness  !  0  in  vain  ! 

0  I  am  very  sick  and  sorrowful. 

26  0  brown  halo  in  the  sky,  near  the  moon,  drooping  upon 

the  sea  I 

0  troubled  reflection,  in  the  sea  ! 
0  throat !  0  throbbing  heart ! 
0  all — and  I  singing  uselessly,  uselessly  all  the  night. 

27  Yet  I  murmur,  murmur  on  ! 

0  murmurs — you  yourselves  make  me  continue  to  sing,  I 
know  not  ivhy. 


76  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

28  0  past  !  0  life  !  0  songs  of  joy  ! 
In  the  air — in  the  woods — over  fields  ; 
Loved!  loved!  loved!  loved!  loved! 
But  my  love  no  more,  no  more  with  me  ! 
We  two  together  no  more. 

8 

29  The  aria  sinking  ; 

All  else  continuing — the  stars  shining, 

The  winds  blowing — the  notes  of  the  bird  continuous 
echoing, 

With  angry  moans  the  fierce  old  mother  incessantly 
moaning, 

On  the  sands  of  Paumanok's  shore,  gray  and  rustling  ; 

The  yellow  half-moon  enlarged,  sagging  down,  droop 
ing,  the  face  of  the  sea  almost  touching  ; 

The  boy  extatic — with  his  bare  feet  the  waves,  with  his 
hair  the  atmosphere  dallying, 

The  love  in  the  heart  long  pent,  now  loose,  now  at  last 
tumultuously  bursting, 

The  aria's  meaning,  the  ears,  the  Soul,  swiftly  deposit 
ing, 

The  strange  tears  down  the  cheeks  coursing, 

The  colloquy  there — the  trio — each  uttering, 

The  undertone  —  the  savage  old  mother,  incessantly 
crying, 

To  the  boy's  Soul's  questions  sullenly  timing — some 
drown'd  secret  hissing, 

To  the  outsetting  bard  of  love. 


30  Demon  or  bird !   (said  the  boy's  soul,) 

Is  it  indeed  toward  your  mate  you  sing?  or  is  it  mostly 

tome? 

For  I,  that  was  a  child,  my  tongue's  use  sleeping, 
Now  I  have  heard  you, 

Now  in  a  moment  I  know  what  I  am  for — I  awake, 
And  already  a  thousand  singers — a  thousand  songs, 

clearer,  louder  and  more  sorrowful  than  yours, 


SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES.  77 

A  thousand  warbling  echoes  have  started  to  life  within 

me, 
Never  to  die. 

31  O  you  singer,  solitary,  singing  by  yourself — project 

ing  me  ; 

O  solitary  me,  listening — never  more  shall  I  cease  per 
petuating  you  ; 

Never  more  shall  I  escape,  never  more  the  reverbera 
tions, 

Never  more  the  cries  of  unsatisfied  love  be  absent  from 
me, 

Never  again  leave  me  to  be  the  peaceful  child  I  was 
before  what  there,  in  the  night, 

By  the  sea,  under  the  yellow  and  sagging  moon, 

The  messenger  there  arous'd — the  fire,  the  sweet  hell 
within, 

The  unknown  want,  the  destiny  of  me. 

32  O  give  me  the  clew  !  (it  lurks  in  the  night  here  some 

where  ;) 

O  if  I  am  to  have  so  much,  let  me  have  more ! 

O  a  word  !  O  what  is  my  destination  ?  (I  fear  it  is  hence 
forth  chaos  ;) 

O  how  joys,  dreads,  convolutions,  human  shapes,  and  all 
shapes,  spring  as  from  graves  around  me  ! 

O  phantoms  !  you  cover  all  the  land  and  all  the  sea  ! 

O  I  cannot  see  in  the  dimness  whether  you  smile  or 
frown  upon  me  ; 

O  vapor,  a  look,  a  word !  O  well-beloved ! 

O  you  dear  women's  and  men's  phantoms ! 

33  A  word  then,  (for  I  will  conquer  it,) 
The  word  final,  superior  to  all, 
Subtle,  sent  up — what  is  it  ? — I  listen  ; 

Are  you  whispering  it,  and  have  been  all  the  time,  you 

sea-waves  ? 
Is  that  it  from  your  liquid  rims  and  wet  sands  ? 


78  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

10 

34  Whereto  answering,  the  sea, 
Delaying  not,  hurrying  not, 

Whisper'd  me  through  the  night,  and  very  plainly  be 
fore  daybreak, 

Lisp'd  to  me  the  low  and  delicious  word  DEATH  ; 

And  again  Death — ever  Death,  Death,  Death, 

Hissing  melodious,  neither  like  the  bird,  nor  like  my 
arous'd  child's  heart, 

But  edging  near,  as  privately  for  me,  rustling  at  my 
feet, 

Creeping  thence  steadily  up  to  my  ears,  and  laving  me 
softly  all  over, 

Death,  Death,  Death,  Death,  Death. 

35  Which  I  do  not  forget, 

But  fuse  the  song  of  my  dusky  demon  and  brother, 
That  he  sang  to  me  in  the  moonlight  on  Paumanok's 

gray  beach, 

With  the  thousand  responsive  songs,  at  random, 
My  own  songs,  awaked  from  that  hour  ; 
And  with  them  the  key,  the  word  up  from  the  waves, 
The  word  of  the  sweetest  song,  and  all  songs. 
That  strong  and  delicious  word  which,  creeping  to  my 

feet, 
The  sea  whisper' d  ine. 


ELEMENTAL   DRIFTS. 

1 

1  ELEMENTAL  drifts ! 

How  I  wish  I  could  impress  others  as  you  have  just 
been  impressing  me ! 

2  As  I  ebb'd  with  an  ebb  of  the  ocean  of  life, 
As  I  wended  the  shores  I  know, 


SEA-SHOKE  MEMORIES.  79 

As  I  walk'd  where  the  ripples  continually  wash  you, 
Paumauok, 

Where  they  rustle  up,  hoarse  and  sibilant, 

Where  the  fierce  old  mother  endlessly  cries  for  her 
castaways, 

I,  musing,  late  in  the  autumn  day,  gazing  off  south 
ward, 

Alone,  held  by  this  eternal  Self  of  me,  out  of  the  pride 
of  which  I  utter  my  poems, 

Was  seiz'd  by  the  spirit  that  trails  in  the  lines  under 
foot, 

In  the  rim,  the  sediment,  that  stands  for  all  the  water 
and  all  the  land  of  the  globe. 

3  Fascinated,  my  eyes,  reverting  from  the  south,  dropt, 

to  follow  those  slender  winrows, 

Chaff,  straw,  splinters  of  wood,  weeds,  and  the  sea- 
gluten, 

Scum,  scales  from  shining  rocks,  leaves  of  salt-lettuce, 
left  by  the  tide  : 

Miles  walking,  the  sound  of  breaking  waves  the  other 
side  of  me, 

Paumanok,  there  and  then,  as  I  thought  the  old 
thought  of  likenesses, 

These  you  presented  to  me,  you  fish-shaped  island, 

As  I  wended  the  shores  I  know, 

As  I  walk'd  with  that  eternal  Self  of  me,  seeking  types. 

2 

4  As  I  wend  to  the  shores  I  know  not, 

As  I  list  to  the  dirge,  the  voices  of  men  and  women 

wreck'd, 
As  I  inhale  the  impalpable  breezes  that  set  in  upon 

me, 
As  the  ocean  so  mysterious  rolls  toward  me  closer  and 

closer, 
I,   too,  but   signify,  at  the  utmost,  a  little  wash'd-up 

drift, 

A  few  sands  and  dead  leaves  to  gather, 
Gather,  and  merge  myself  as  part  of  the  sands   and 

drift. 


80  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

5  O  baffled,  balk'd,  bent  to  the  very  earth, 
Oppress'd  with  myself  that  I  have  dared  to  open  my 

mouth, 
Aware  now,  that,  amid  all  that  blab  whose  echoes  recoil 

upon  me,  I   have  not  once  had  the  least   idea 

who  or  what  I  am, 
But  that   before  all  my  insolent  poems  the   real  ME 

stands    yet   untouch'd,    untold,    altogether  un- 

reach'd, 
"Withdrawn  far,  mocking  me  with  mock-congratulatory 

signs  and  bows, 
With  peals  of  distant  ironical  laughter  at  every  word  I 

have  written, 
Pointing  in  silence  to  these  songs,  and  then  to  the  sand 

beneath. 

6  Now  I  perceive  I  have  not  understood  anything — not 

a  single  object — and  that  no  man  ever  can. 

7  I  perceive  Nature,  here  in  sight  of  the  sea,  is  taking 

advantage  of  me,  to  dart  upon  me,  and  sting  me, 
Because  I  have  dared  to  open  my  mouth  to  sing  at  all. 


8  You  oceans  both !  I  close  with  you  ; 

We  murmur  alike  reproachfully,  rolling  our  sands  and 

drift,  knowing  not  why, 
These  little  shreds  indeed,  standing  for  you  and  me 

and  all. 

9  You  friable  shore,  with  trails  of  debris  ! 

You  fish-shaped  island !    I  take  what  is  underfoot ; 
What  is  yours  is  mine,  my  father. 

10  I  too  Paumanok, 

I  too  have  bubbled  up,  floated  the  measureless  float, 

and  been  wash'd  on  your  shores  ; 
I  too  am  but  a  trail  of  drift  and  debris, 
I  too  leave  little  wrecks  upon  you,  you  fish-shaped 

island. 


SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES.  81 

11  I  throw  myself  upon  your  breast,  my  father, 
I  cling  to  you  so  that  you  cannot  unloose  me, 

I  hold  you  so  firm,  till  you  answer  me  something. 

12  Kiss  me,  my  father, 

Touch  me  with  your  lips,  as  I  touch  those  I  love, 
Breathe  to  me,  while  I  hold  you  close,  the  secret  of  the 
murmuring  I  envy. 


13  Ebb,  ocean  of  life,  (the  flow  will  return,) 
Cease  not  your  moaning,  you  fierce  old  mother, 
Endlessly  cry  for  your  castaways — but  fear  not,  deny 

not  me, 

Rustle  not  up  so  hoarse  and  angry  against  my  feet,  as  I 
touch  you,  or  gather  from  you. 

14  I  mean  tenderly  by  you  and  all, 

I  gather  for  myself,  and  for  this  phantom,  looking  down 
where  we  lead,  and  following  me  and  mine. 

15  Me  and  mine ! 

"We,  loose  winrows,  little  corpses, 

Froth,  snowy  ^  *ite,  and  bubbles, 

(See !  from  my  dead  lips  the  ooze  exuding  at  last ! 

See — the  prismatic  colors,  glistening  and  rolling!) 

Tufts  of  straw,  sands,  fragments, 

Buoy'd  hither  from  many  moods,  one  contradicting 
another, 

From  the  storm,  the  long  calm,  the  darkness,  the  swell; 

Musing,  pondering,  a  breath,  a  briny  tear,  a  dab  of 
liquid  or  soil  ; 

Up  just  as  much  out  of  fathomless  workings  fermented 
and  thrown  ; 

A  limp  blossom  or  two,  torn,  just  as  much  over  waves 
floating,  drifted  at  random  ; 

Just  as  much  for  us  that  sobbing  dirge  of  Nature  ; 

Just  as  much,  whence  we  come,  that  blare  of  the  cloud- 
trumpets  ; 


82  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

We,  capricious,  brought  hither,  we  know  not  whence, 

spread  out  before  you, 
You,  up  there,  walking  or  sitting, 
Whoever  you  are — we  too  lie  in  drifts  at  your  feet. 


TEARS. 

TEARS  !  tears  !  tears  ! 

In  the  night,  in  solitude,  tears  ; 

On  the  white  shore  dripping,  dripping,  suck'd  in  by  the 

sand ; 

Tears — not  a  star  shining — all  dark  and  desolate  ; 
Moist  tears  from  the  eyes  of  a  muffled  head  : 
— O  who  is  that  ghost  ? — that  form  in  the  dark,  with 

tears  ? 
What  shapeless  lump  is  that,  bent,  crouch'd  there  on 

the  sand  ? 
Streaming  tears — sobbing  tears — throes,  choked  with 

wild  cries  ; 
O  storm,  embodied,  rising,  careering,  with  swift  steps 

along  the  beach  ; 
O  wild  and  dismal  night  storm,  with  wind !  O  belching 

and  desperate  ! 
O   shade,  so  sedate  and  decorous  by  day,  with  calm 

countenance  and  regulated  pace  ; 
But  away,  at  night,  as  you  fly,  none  looking — O  then 

the  unloosen'd  ocean, 
Of  tears  !  tears  !  tears  ! 


ABOARD,  AT  A  SHIP'S  HELM. 

1  ABOARD,  at  a  ship's  helm, 

A  young  steersman,  steering  with  care. 

2  A  bell  through  fog  on  a  sea-coast  dolefully  ringing, 
An  ocean-bell — O  a  warning  bell,  rock'd  by  the  waves. 


SEA- SHORE  MEMORIES.  83 

3  O  you  give  good  notice  indeed,  you  bell  by  the  sea- 

reefs  ringing, 
Ringing,  ringing,  to  warn  the  ship  from  its  wreck-place. 

4  For,  as  on  the  alert,  O  steersman,  you  mind  the  bell's 

admonition, 
The  bows   turn, — the  freighted  ship,  tacking,  speeds 

away  under  her  gray  sails, 
The  beautiful  and  noble  ship,  with  all  her  precious 

wealth,  speeds  away  gaily  and  safe. 

5  But  O  the  ship,  the  immortal  ship !  O  ship  aboard  the 

ship ! 

O  ship  of  the  body — ship  of  the  soul — voyaging,  voyag 
ing,  voyaging. 


ON  THE  BEACH,  AT  NIGHT. 

1 

1  ON  the  beach,  at  night, 
Stands  a  child,  with  her  father, 
Watching  the  east,  the  autumn  sky. 

2  Up  through  the  darkness, 

While  ravening  clouds,   the   burial  clouds,   in  black 

masses  spreading, 

Lower,  sullen  and  fast,  athwart  and  down  the  sky, 
Amid  a  transparent  clear  belt  of  ether  yet  left  in  the 

east, 

Ascends,  large  and  calm,  the  lord-star  Jupiter  ; 
And  nigh  at  hand,  only  a  very  little  above, 
Swim  the  delicate  brothers,  the  Pleiades. 


3  From  the  beach,  the  child,  holding  the  hand  of  her 
father, 

Those  burial-clouds  that  lower,  victorious,  soon  to  de 
vour  all, 

Watching,  silently  weeps. 


84  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

4  "Weep  not,  child, 

Weep  not,  ray  darling, 

With  these  kisses  let  me  remove  your  tears ; 

The  ravening  clouds  shall  not  long  be  victorious, 

They  shall  not  long  possess  the  sky — shall  devour  the 

stars  only  in  apparition  : 
Jupiter  shall  emerge — be  patient — watch  again  another 

night — the  Pleiades  shall  emerge, 
They  are  immortal — all  those  stars,  both  silvery  and 

golden,  shall  shine  out  again, 
The  great  stars  and  the  little  ones  shall  shine  out  again 

— they  endure  ; 
The  vast  immortal  suns,  and  the  long-enduring  pensive 

moons,  shall  again  shine. 


5  Then,  dearest  child,  mournest  thou  only  for  Jupiter? 
Considerest  thou  alone  the  burial  of  the  stars  ? 

6  Something  there  is, 

(With  my  lips  soothing  thee,  adding,  I  whisper, 

I  give  thee  the  first  suggestion,  the  problem  and  indi 
rection,) 

Something  there  is  more  immortal  even  than  the  stars, 

(Many  the  burials,  many  the  days  and  nights,  passing 
away,) 

Something  that  shall  endure  longer  even  than  lustrous 
Jupiter, 

Longer  than  sun,  or  any  revolving  satellite, 

Or  the  radiant  brothers,  the  Pleiades. 


THE  WORLD  BELOW  THE  BRINE. 

THE  world  below  the  brine  ; 

Forests  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea — the  branches  and 

leaves, 
Sea-lettuce,  vast  lichens,  strange  flowers  and  seeds — 

the  thick  tangle,  the  openings,  and  the  pink  turf, 


SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES.  85 

Different  colors,  pale  gray  and  green,  purple,  white, 

and  gold — the  play  of  light  through  the  water, 
Dumb  swimmers  there  among  the  rocks — coral,  gluten, 

grass,  rushes — and  the  aliment  of  the  swimmers, 
Sluggish  existences  grazing  there,  suspended,  or  slowly 

crawling  close  to  the  bottom, 
The  sperm-whale  at  the  surface,  blowing  air  and  spray, 

or  disporting  with  his  flukes, 
The  leaden-eyed  shark,  the  walrus,  the  turtle,  the  hairy 

sea-leopard,  and  the  sting-ray  ; 
Passions  there — wars,  pursuits,  tribes — sight  in  those 

ocean-depths  —  breathing    that    thick-breathing 

air,  as  so  many  do  ; 
The  change  thence  to  the  sight  here,  and  to  the  subtle 

air  breathed  by  beings  like  us,  who  walk  this 

sphere  ; 
The  change  onward  from  ours,  to  that  of  beings  who 

walk  other  spheres. 


ON  THE  BEACH  AT  NIGHT  ALONE. 

1  ON  the  beach  at  night  alone, 

As  the  old  mother  sways  her  to  and  fro,  singing  her 

husky  song, 
As  I  watch  the  bright  stars  shining— I  think  a  thought 

of  the  clef  of  the  universes,  and  of  the  future. 

2  A  VAST  SIMILITUDE  interlocks  all, 

All  spheres,  grown,  ungrown,  small,  large,  suns,  moons, 

planets,  comets,  asteroids, 
All  the  substances  of  the  same,  and  all  that  is  spiritual 

upon  the  same, 

All  distances  of  place,  however  wide, 
All  distances  of  time — all  inanimate  forms, 
All  Souls — all  living  bodies,  though  they  be  ever  so 

different,  or  in  different  worlds, 
All  gaseous,  watery,  vegetable,  mineral  processes — the 

fishes,  the  brutes, 


86  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

All  men  and  women — me  also  ; 

All  nations,  colors,  barbarisms,  civilizations,  languages  ; 

All  identities  that  have  existed,  or  may  exist,  on  this 

globe,  or  any  globe  ; 

All  lives  and  deaths — all  of  the  past,  present,  future  ; 
This  vast  similitude  spans  them,  and  always  has  spann'd, 

and  shall  forever  span  them,  and  compactly  hold 

them,  and  enclose  them. 


LEAVES  OF  GRASS. 


A   CAROL   OF   HARVEST,  FOR    1867. 

[In  all  History,  antique  or  modern,  the  grandest  achievement 
yet  for  political  Humanity — grander  even  than  the  triumph  of 
THIS  UNION  over  Secession — was  the  return,  disbanding,  and 
peaceful  disintegration  from  compact  military  organization,  back 
into  agricultural  and  civil  employments,  of  the  vast  Armies,  the 
two  millions  of  embattled  men  of  America — a  problem  reserved 
for  Democracy,  our  day  and  land,  to  promptly  solve.] 


1  A  SONG  of  the  good  green  grass ! 
•A  song  no  more  of  the  city  streets  ; 

A  song  of  farms — a  song  of  the  soil  of  fields. 

2  A  song  with  the  smell  of  sun-dried  hay,  where  the 

nimble  pitchers  handle  the  pitch-fork  ; 
A  song  tasting  of  new  wheat,  and  of  fresh-husk'd  maize. 


3  For  the  lands,  and  for  these  passionate  days,  and  for 

myself, 

Now  I  awhile  return  to  thee,  O  soil  of  Autumn  fields, 
Reclining  on  thy  breast,  giving  myself  to  thee, 
Answering  the  pulses  of  thy  sane  and  equable  heart, 
Tuning  a  verse  for  thee. 

4  O  Earth,  that  hast  no  voice,  confide  to  me  a  voice ! 

O  harvest  of  my  lands !    O  boundless  summer  growths ! 
O  lavish,  brown,  parturient  earth !    O  infinite,  teeming 

womb ! 
A  verse  to  seek,  to  see,  to  narrate  thee. 


88  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


5  Ever  upon  this  stage, 

Is  acted  God's  calm,  annual  drama,  / 

Gorgeous  processions,  songs  of  birds, 

Sunrise,  that  fullest  feeds  and  freshens  most  the  soul, 

The  heaving  sea,  the  waves  upon  the  shore,  the  musical, 

strong  waves, 
The  woods,  the  stalwart  trees,  the  slender,  tapering 

trees, 
The  flowers,  the  grass,  the  lilliput,  countless  armies  of 

the  grass, 

The  heat,  the  showers,  the  measureless  pasturages, 
The  scenery  of  the  snows,  the  winds'  free  orchestra, 
The  stretching,   light-hung  roof  of  clouds — the  clear 

cerulean,  and  the  bulging,  silvery  fringes, 
The  high  dilating  stars,  the  placid,  beckoning  stars, 
The  moving  flocks  and  herds,  the  plains  and  emerald 

meadows, 
The  shows  of  all  the  varied  lands,  and  all  the  growths 

and  products. 


6  Fecund  America !     To  day, 

Thou  art  all  over  set  in  births  and  joys  ! 

Thou  groan'st  with  riches !  thy  wealth  clothes  thee  as 

with  a  swathing  garment ! 

Thou  laughest  loud  with  ache  of  great  possessions  ! 
A  myriad-twining  life,  like  interlacing  vines,  binds  all 

thy  vast  demesne ! 
As  some  huge  ship,  freighted  to  water's  edge,  thou 

ridest  into  port ! 
As  rain  falls  from  the  heaven,  and  vapors  rise  from 

earth,  so  have  the  precious  values  fallen  upon 

thee,  and  risen  out  of  thee  ! 
Thou  envy  of  the  globe  !  thou  miracle  ! 
Thou,  bathed,  choked,  swimming  in  plenty  ! 
Thou  lucky  Mistress  of  the  tranquil  barns  ! 
Thou  Prairie  Dame  that   sittest   in   the   middle,  and 

lookest  out  upon  thy  world,  and  lookest  East, 

and  lookest  West ! 


LEAVES  or  GRASS.  89 

Dispensatress,  that  by  a  word  givest  a  thousand  miles 
— that  giv'st  a  million  farms,  and  missest  noth 


ing! 


Thou  All- Accep tress — thou  Hospitable — (thou  only  art 
hospitable,  as  God  is  hospitable.) 


7  When  late  I  sang,  sad  was  my  voice  ; 

Sad  were  the  shows  around  me,  with  deafening  noises 

of  hatred,  and  smoke  of  conflict ; 
In  the  midst  of  the  armies,  the  Heroes,  I  stood, 
Or  pass'd  with  slow  step  through  the  wounded  and 

dying. 

8  But  now  I  sing  not  War, 

Nor  the  measur'd  march  of  soldiers,  nor  the  tents  of 

camps, 
Nor  the  regiments  hastily  coming  up,  deploying  in  line 

of  battle. 

9  No  more  the  dead  and  wounded  ; 

No  more  the  sad,  unnatural  shows  of  War. 

10  Ask'd  room  those  flush'd  immortal  ranks  ?  the  first 

forth-stepping  armies  ? 

Ask  room,  alas,  the  ghastly  ranks — the  armies  dread 
that  follow'd. 


11  (Pass — pass,  ye  proud  brigades  ! 

So   handsome,   dress'd  in  blue — with  your  tramping, 

sinewy  legs  ; 
With  your   shoulders  young   and   strong — with   your 

knapsacks  and  your  muskets  ; 
— How  elate  I  stood  and  watch'd  you,  where,  starting 

off,  you  march'd ! 

12  Pass  ; — then  rattle,  drums,  again  ! 

Scream,  you  steamers  on  the  river,  out  of  whistles  loud 
and  shrill,  your  salutes  ! 


90  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

For  an   army  heaves  in  sight — O   another  gathering 

army ! 
Swarming,  trailing  on  the  rear — O  you  dread,  accruing 

army ! 
O  you  regiments  so  piteous,  with  your  mortal  diarrhoea ! 

with  your  fever ! 
O  my  land's  maimed  darlings !  with  the  plenteous  bloody 

bandage  and  the  crutch  ! 
Lo !  your  pallid  army  followed !) 


13  But  on  these  days  of  brightness, 

On  the  far-stretching  beauteous  landscape,  the  roads 
and  lanes,  the  high-piled  farm-wagons,  and  the 
fruits  and  barns, 

Shall  the  dead  intrude? 

14  Ah,  the  dead  to  me  mar  not — they  fit  well  in  Na 

ture  ; 
They  fit  very  well  in  the  landscape,  under  the  trees  and 

grass, 
And  along  the  edge  of  the  sky,  in  the  horizon's  far 

margin. 

15  Nor  do  I  forget  you,  departed  ; 

Nor  in  winter  or  summer,  my  lost  ones  ; 

But  most,  in  the  open  air,  as  now,  when  my  soul  is 

rapt  and  at  peace — like  pleasing  phantoms, 
Your  dear  memories,  rising,  glide  silently  by  me. 

8 

16  I  saw  the  clay,  the  return  of  the  Heroes  ; 

(Yet  the  Heroes  never  surpass'd,  shall  never  return  ; 
Them,  that  day,  I  saw  not.) 

17  I  saw  the  interminable  Corps — I  saw  the  processions 

'  of  armies, 

I  saw  them  approaching,  defiling  by,  with  divisions, 
Streaming  northward,  their  work  done,  camping  awhile 
in  clusters  of  mighty  camps. 


LEAVES  OF  GRASS.  91 

18  No  holiday  soldiers  ! — youthful,  yet  veterans  ; 
Worn,  swart,  handsome,  strong,  of  the  stock  of  home 
stead  and  workshop, 

Harden'd  of  many  a  long  campaign  and  sweaty  march, 
Inured  on  many  a  hard-fought,  bloody  field. 


9 

19  A  pause — the  armies  wait ; 

A  million  flush'd,  embattled  conquerors  wait ; 

The  world,  too,  waits — then,  soft  as  breaking  night,  and 

sure  as  dawn, 
They  melt — they  disappear. 

20  Exult,  indeed,  O  lands !  victorious  lands  ! 

Not  there  your  victory,  on  those  red,  shuddering  fields  ; 
But  here  and  hence  your  victory. 

21  Melt,  melt  away,  ye  armies!  disperse,  ye  blue-clad 

soldiers ! 
Resolve  ye  back  again — give  up,  for  good,  your  deadly 

arms  ; 
Other  the  arms,  the  fields  henceforth  for  you,  or  South 

or  North,  or  East  or  West, 
With  saner  wars — sweet  wars — life-giving  wars. 

10 

22  Loud,  0  my  throat,  and  clear,  O  soul ! 

The  season  of  thanks,  and  the  voice  of  full-yielding  ; 
The  chant  of  joy  and  power  for  boundless  fertility. 

23  All  till'd  and  untill'd  fields  expand  before  me  ; 
I  see  the  true  arenas  of  my  race — or  first,  or  last, 
Man's  innocent  and  strong  arenas. 

H  I  see  the  Heroes  at  other  toils  ; 

I  see,  well-wielded  in  their  hands,  the  better  weapons. 


92  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


11 

25  I  see  where  America,  Mother  of  All, 

Well-pleased,  with  full-spanning  eye,  gazes  forth,  dwells 

long, 
And  counts  the  varied  gathering  of  the  products. 

28  Busy  the  far,  th*e  sunlit  panorama  ; 

Prairie,  orchard,  and  yellow  grain  of  the  North, 

Cotton  and  rice  of  the  South,  and  Louisianian  cane  ; 

Open,  unseeded  fallows,  rich  fields  of  clover  and  tim 
othy, 

Kine  and  horses  feeding,  and  droves  of  sheep  and 
swine, 

And  many  a  stately  river  flowing,  and  many  a  jocund 
'brook, 

And  healthy  uplands  with  their  herby-perfumecl  breezes, 

And  the  good  green  grass — that  delicate  miracle,  the 
ever-recurring  grass. 


12 

27  Toil  on,  Heroes  !  harvest  the  products ! 

Not  alone  on  those  warlike  fields,  the  Mother  of  All, 
With  dilated  form  and  lambent  eyes,  watch 'd  you. 

28  Toil  on,  Heroes !    toil  well !     Handle   the  weapons 

well! 

The  Mother  of  All — yet  here,  as  ever,  she  watches 
you. 

29  Well-pleased,  America,  thou  beholdest, 

Over  the  fields  of  the  West,  those  crawling  monsters, 

The  human-divine  inventions,  the  labor-saving  imple 
ments  : 

Beholdest,  moving  in  every  direction,  imbued  as  with 
life,  the  revolving  hay-rakes, 

The  steam-power  reaping-machines,  and  the  horse-power 
machines. 


LEAVES  OP  GRASS.  93 

The  engines,  thrashers  of  grain,  and  cleaners  of  grain, 
well  separating  the  straw — the  nimble  work  of 
the  patent  pitch-fork  ; 

Beholdest  the  newer  saw-mill,  the  southern  cotton-gin, 
and  the  rice-cleanser. 

30  Beneath  thy  look,  O  Maternal, 

With  these,  and  else,  and  with  their  own  strong  hands, 
the  Heroes  harvest. 

31  All  gather,  and  all  harvest ; 

(Yet  but  for  thee,  O  Powerful !   not  a  scythe  might 

swing,  as  now,  in  security  ; 
Not  a  maize-stalk  dangle,  as  now,  its  silken  tassels  in 

peace.) 

13 

32  Under  Thee  only  they  harvest — even-  but  a  wisp  of 

hay,  under  thy  great  face,  only  ; 
Harvest  the  wheat  of  Ohio,  Illinois,  Wisconsin — every 

barbed  spear,  under  thee  ; 
Harvest  the  maize  of  Missouri,  Kentucky,  Tennessee — 

each  ear  in  its  light-green  sheath, 
Gather  the  hay  to  its  myriad  mows,  in  the  odorous, 

tranquil  barns, 
Oats  to  their  bins — the  white  potato,  the  buckwheat  qf. 

Michigan,  to  theirs  ; 
Gather  the  cotton  in  Mississippi  or  Alabama — dig  and 

hoard  the  golden,  the  sweet  potato  of  Georgia 

and  the  Carolinas, 

Clip  the  wool  of  California  or  Pennsylvania, 
Cut  'the  flax  in  the  Middle  States,  or  hemp,  or  tobacco 

in  the  Borders, 
Pick  the  pea  and  the  bean,  or  pull  apples  from  the 

trees,  or  bunches  of  grapes  from  the  vines, 
Or  aught  that  ripens  in  all  These  States,  or  North  or 

South, 
Under  the  beaming  sun,  and  under  Thee. 


94  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


THE   SINGER  IN  THE  PRISON. 


0  sight  of  shame,  and  pain,  and  dole  ! 
0  fearful  thought — a  convict  Soul ! 

HANG  the  refrain  along  the  hall,  the  prison, 

Rose  to  the  roof,  the  vaults  of  heaven  above, 

Pouring  in  floods  of  melody,  in  tones  so  pensive,  sweet 

and  strong,  the  like  whereof  was  never  heard, 
Beaching  the  far-off  sentry,  and  the  armed  guards,  who 

ceas'd  their  pacing, 
Making  the  hearer's  pulses  stop  for  extasy  and  awe. 


0  sight  of  pity,  gloom,  and  dole  ! 
0  pardon  me,  a  hapless  Soul ! 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  west  one  winter  day, 

When  down  a  narrow  aisle,  amid  the  thieves  and  out 
laws  of  the  land, 

(There  by  the  hundreds  seated,  sear-faced  murderers, 
wily  counterfeiters, 

Gather'd  to  Sunday  church  in  prison  walls — the  keep 
ers  round, 

Plenteous,  well-arm'd,  watching,  with  vigilant  eyes,) 

All  that  dark,  cankerous,  blotch,  a  nation's  criminal 
mass, 

Calmly  a  Lady  walk'd,  holding  a  little  innocent  child 
by  either  hand, 

"Whom,  seating  on  their  stools  beside  her  on  the  plat 
form, 

She,  first  preluding  with  the  instrument,  a  low  and 
musical  prelude, 

In  voice  surpassing  all,  sang  forth  a  quaint  old 
hymn. 


LEAVES  OF  GKASS.  95 

3 

THE  HYMN. 

A  Soul,  confined  by  bars  and  bands, 
Cries,  Help  !  O  help  !  and  wrings  her  hands  ; 
Blinded  her  eyes — bleeding  her  breast, 
Nor  pardon  finds,  nor  balm  of  rest. 

0  sight  of  shame,  and  pain,  and  dole  ! 
0  fearful  thought — a  convict  Soul ! 

Ceaseless,  she  paces  to  and  fro  ; 
O  heart-sick  days !  O  nights  of  wo ! 
Nor  hand  of  friend,  nor  loving  face  ; 
Nor  favor  comes,  nor  word  of  grace. 

0  sight  of  pity,  gloom,  and  dole  ! 
0  pardon  me,  a  hapless  Soul ! 

It  was  not  I  that  sinn'd  the  sin, 
The  ruthless  Body  dragg'd  me  in  ; 
Though  long  I  strove  courageously, 
The  Body  was  too  much  for  me. 

0  Life  !  no  life,  but  bitter  dole  ! 
0  burning,  beaten,  baffled  Soul ! 

(Dear  prison'd  Soul,  bear  up  a  space, 
For  soon  or  late  the  certain  grace  ; 
To  set  thee  free,  and  bear  thee  home, 
The  Heavenly  Pardoner,  Death  shall  come. 

Convict  no  more — nor  shame,  nor  dole  ! 
Depart !  a  God-enfranchis'd  Soul ! ) 


4 

The  singer  ceas'd ; 

One  glance  swept  from  her  clear,  calm  eyes,  o'er  all 

those  up-turn'd  faces ; 
Strange  sea  of  prison  faces — a  thousand  varied,  crafty, 

brutal,  seam'd  and  beauteous  faces  ; 


96  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

Then  rising,  passing  back  along  the  narrow  aisle  be 
tween  them, 

While  her  gown  touch'd  them,  rustling  in  the  silence, 
She  vanish'd  with  her  children  in  the  dusk. 


While  upon  all,  convicts  and  armed  keepers,  ere  they 

stirr'd, 

(Convict  forgetting  prison,  keeper  his  loaded  pistol,) 
A  hush  and  pause  i'ell  down,  a  wondrous  minute, 
With  deep,  half-stifled  sobs,  and  sound  of  bad  men 

bow'd,  and  moved  to  weeping, 

And  youth's  convulsive  breathings,  memories  of  home, 
The  mother's  voice    in  lullaby,  the   sister's  care,  the 

happy  childhood, 

The  long-pent  spirit  rous'd  to  reminiscence  ; 
— A  wondrous  minute  then — But  after,  in  the  solitary 

night,  to  many,  many  there, 
Years  after — even  in  the  hour  of  death — the  sad  refrain 

— the  tune,  the  voice,  the  words, 

Resumed — the  large,  calm  Lady  walks  the  narrow  aisle, 
The  wailing  melody  again — the  singer  in  the  prison 

sings  : 

0  sight  of  shame,  and  pain,  and  dole  ! 
0  fearful  thought — a  convict  Soul ! 


WARBLE   FOR   LILAC   TIME. 

WARBLE  me  now,  for  joy  of  Lilac- time, 

Sort  me,  O  tongue   and  lips,  for  Nature's  sake,   and 

sweet  life's  sake — and  death's  the  same  as  life's, 
Souvenirs  of  earliest  summer — birds'  eggs,  and  the  first 

berries  ; 
Gather  the  welcome  signs,  (as  children,  with  pebbles,  or 

stringing  shells  ;) 
Put  in  April  and  May — the  hylas  croaking  in  the  ponds 

— the  elastic  air, 


LEAVES  OF  GRASS.  97 

Bees,  butterflies,  the  sparrow  with  its  simple  notes, 

Blue-bird,  and  darting  swallow — nor  forget  the  high- 
hole  flashing  his  golden  wings, 

The  tranquil  sunny  haze,  the  clinging  smoke,  the  vapor, 

Spiritual,  airy  insects,  humming  on  gossamer  wings, 

Shimmer  of  waters,  with  fish  in  them — the  cerulean 
above ; 

All  that  is  jocund  and  sparkling — the  brooks  running, 

The  maple  woods,  the  crisp  February  days,  and  the 
sugar-making  ; 

The  robin,  where  he  hops,  bright-eyed,  brown-breasted, 

With  musical  clear  call  at  sunrise,  and  again  at  sunset, 

Or  flitting  among  the  trees  of  the  apple-orchard,  build 
ing  the  nest  of  his  mate  ; 

The  melted  snow  of  March — the  willow  sending  forth 
its  yellow-green  sprouts  ; 

— For  spring-lime  is  here !  the  summer  is  here !  and 
what  is  this  in  it  and  from  it  ? 

Thou,  Soul,  unloosen'd — the  restlessness  after  I  know 
not  what ; 

Come !  let  us  lag  here  no  longer — let  us  be  up  and 
away! 

O  for  another  world !  O  if  one  could  but  fly  like  a 
bird! 

O  to  escape — to  sail  forth,  as  in  a  ship  ! 

To  glide  with  thee,  O  Soul,  o'er  all,  in  all,  as  a  ship  o'er 
the  waters ! 

— Gathering  these  hints,  these  preludes — the  blue  sky, 
the  gra§s,  the  morning  drops  of  dew  ; 

(With  additional  songs — every  spring  will  I  now  strike 
up  additional  songs, 

Nor  ever  again  forget,  these  tender  days,  the  chants  of 
Death  as  well  as  Life  ;) 

The  lilac-scent,  the  bushes,  and  the  dark  green,  heart- 
shaped  leaves. 

Wood  violets,  the  little  delicate  pale  blossoms  called 
innocence, 

Samples  and  sorts  not  for  themselves  alone,  but  for 
their  atmosphere, 

To  tally,  drench'd  with  them,  tested  by  them, 

Cities  and  artificial  life,  and  all  their  sights  and  scenes, 
5 


98  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

My  mind  henceforth,  and  all  its  meditations— my  reci 
tatives, 

My  land,  my  age,  my  race,  for  once  to  serve  in  songs, 
(Sprouts,  tokens  ever  of  death  indeed  the  same  as  life,) 
To  grace  the  bush  I  love — to  sing  with  the  birds, 
A  warble  for  joy  of  Lilac-time. 


WHO  LEARNS  MY  LESSON  COMPLETE? 

1  WHO  learns  my  lesson  complete  ? 

Boss,  journeyman,  apprentice — churchman  and  atheist, 
The  stupid  and  the  wise  thinker — parents  and  offspring 

— merchant,  clerk,  porter  and  customer, 
Editor,  author,  artist,  and  schoolboy — Draw  nigh  and 

commence  ; 

It  is  no  lesson — it  lets  down  the  bars  to  a  good  lesson, 
And  that  to  another,  and  every  one  to  another  still. 

2  The  great  laws  take  and  effuse  without  argument  ; 
I  am  of  the  same  style,  for  I  am  their  friend, 

I  love  them  quits  and  quits — I  do  not  halt,  and  make 
salaams. 

3  I  he  abstracted,  and  hear  beautiful  tales  of  things, 

and  the  reasons  of  things  ; 
They  are  so  beautiful,  I  nudge  myself  to  listen. 

4  I  cannot  say  to  any  person  what  I  hear — I  cannot  say 

it  to  myself — it  is  very  wonderful. 

8  It  is  no  small  matter,  this  round  and  delicious  globe, 
moving  so  exactly  in  its  orbit  forever  and  ever, 
without  one  jolt,  or  the  untruth  of  a  single 
second  ; 

I  do  not  think  it  was  made  in  six  days,  nor  in  ten 
thousand  years,  nor  ten  billions  of  years, 

Nor  plann'd  and  built  one  thing  after  another,  as  an 
architect  plans  and  builds  a  house. 


LEAVES  OF  GRASS.  99 

6  I  do  not  think  seventy  years  is  the  time  of  a  man  or 

woman, 
Nor  that  seventy  millions  of  years  is  the  time  of  a  man 

or  woman, 
Nor  that  years  will  ever  stop  the  existence  of  me,  or 

any  one  else. 

7  Is  it  wonderful  that  I  should  be  immortal  ?  as  every 

one  is  immortal  ; 

I  know  it  is  wonderful,  but  my  eyesight  is  equally  won 
derful,  and  how  I  was  conceived  in  my  mother's 
womb  is  equally  wonderful ; 

And  pass'd  from  a  babe,  in  the  creeping  trance  of  a 
couple  of  summers  and  winters,  to  articulate  and 
walk — All  this  is  equally  wonderful. 

8  And  that  my  Soul  embraces  you  this  hour,   and  we 

affect  each  other  without  ever  seeing  each  other, 
and  never  perhaps  to  see  each  other,  is  every  bit 
as  wonderful. 

9  And  that  I  can  think  such  thoughts  as  these,  is  just 

as  wonderful ; 

And  that  I  can  remind  you,  and  you  think  them,  and 
know  them  to  be  true,  is  just  as  wonderful. 

10  And  that  the  moon  spins  round  the  earth,  and  on 

with  the  earth,  is  equally  wonderful, 
And  that  they  balance  themselves  with  the  sun  and 
stars,  is  equally  wonderful. 


THOUGHT. 

OF  Justice — As  if  Justice  could  be  anything  but  the 
same  ample  law,  expounded  by  natural  judges 
and  saviors, 

As  if  it  might  be  this  thing  or  that  thing,  according  to 
decisions. 


100  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 


MYSELF  AND  MINE. 

1  MYSELF  and  mine  gymnastic  ever, 

To  stand  the  cold  or  heat — to  take  good  aim  with  a 
gun — to  sail  a  boat — to  manage  horses — to  be 
get  superb  children, 

•To  speak  readily  and  clearly — to  feel  at  home  among 
common  people, 

And  to  hold  our  own  in  terrible  positions,  on  land  and 


2  Not  for  an  embroiderer  ; 

(There  will  always  be  plenty  of  embroiderers— I  wel 
come  them  also  ;) 

But  for  the  fibre  of  things,  and  for  inherent  men  and 
women. 

3  Not  to  chisel  ornaments, 

But  to  chisel  with  free  stroke  the  heads  and  limbs  of 
plenteous  Supreme  Gods,  that  The  States  may 
realize  them,  walking  and  talking. 

4  Let  me  have  my  own  way ; 

Let  others  promulge  the  laws — I  will  make  no  account 

of  the  laws ; 
Let  others  praise  eminent  men  and  hold  up  peace — I 

hold  up  agitation  and  conflict ; 
I  praise  no  eminent  man — I  rebuke  to  his  face  the  one 

that  was  thought  most  worthy. 

6  (Who  are  you  ?  you  mean  devil !     And  what  are  you 

secretly  guilty  of,  all  your  life  ? 
Will  you  turn  aside  all  your  life  ?     Will  you  grub  and 

chatter  all  your  life  ?) 

6  ^And  who  are  you— blabbing  by  rote,  years,  pages, 

languages,  reminiscences, 
Unwitting  to-day  that  you  do  not  know  how  to  speak  a 

single  word  ?) 


LEAVES  OF  GRASS.  101 

7  Let  others  finish  specimens — I  never  finish  specimens  ; 
I  shower  them  by  exhaustless   laws,  as  Nature  does, 

fresh  and  modern  continually. 

8  I  give  nothing  as  duties  ; 

What  others  give  as  duties,  I  give  as  living  impulses  ; 
(Shall  I  give  the  heart's  action  as  a  duty  ?) 

9  Let  others  dispose  of  questions — I  dispose  of  nothing 

— I  arouse  unanswerable  questions  ; 
Who  are  they  I  see  and  touch,  and  what  about  them  ? 
What  about  these  likes  of  myself,  that  draw  me  so  close 

by  tender  directions  and  indirections  ? 

10  I  call  to  the  world  to  distrust  the  accounts  of  my 

friends,  but  listen  to  my  enemies— as  I  myself 
do; 

I  charge  you,  too,  forever,  reject  those  who  would  ex 
pound  me — for  I  cannot  expound  myself  ; 

I  charge  that  there  be  no  theory  or  school  founded  out 
of  me  ; 

I  charge  you  to  leave  all  free,  as  I  have  left  all  free. 

11  After  me,  vista  ! 

O,  I  see  life  is  not  short,  but  immeasurably  long  ; 

I  henceforth  tread  the  world,  chaste,  temperate,  an 
early  riser,  a  steady  grower, 

Every  hour  the  semen  of  centuries— and  still  of  centu 
ries. 

12  I  will  follow  up  these  continual  lessons  of  the  air, 

water,  earth  ; 
I  perceive  I  have  no  time  to  lose. 


TO  OLD  AGE. 

I  SEE  in  you  the  estuary  that  enlarges  and  spreads  i 
grandly  as  it  pours  in  the  great  Sea. 


102  PASSAGE   TO   INDIA. 

MIRACLES. 

1  WHY!  who  makes  much  of  a  miracle  ? 

As  to  me.  I  know  of  nothing  else  but  miracles, 

Whether  I  walk  the  streets  of  Manhattan, 

Or  dart  my  sight  over  the  roofs  of  houses  toward  the 

sky, 
Or  wade  with  naked  feet  along  the  beach,  just  in  the 

edge  of  the  water, 
Or  stand  under  trees  in  the  woods, 
Or  talk  by  day  with  any  one  I  love — or  sleep  in  the  bed 

at  night  with  any  one  I  love, 
Or  sit  at  table  at  dinner  with  the  rest, 
Or  look  at  strangers  opposite  me  riding  in  the  car, 
Or  watch  honey-bees  busy  around  the  hive,  of  a  sum 
mer  forenoon, 

Or  animals  feeding  in  the  fields, 
Or  birds — or  the  wonderfulness  of  insects  in  the  air, 
Or   the  wonderfulness   of  the  sun-down — or  of  stars 

shining  so  quiet  and  bright, 
Or  the  exquisite,  delicate,  thin  curve  of  the  new  moon 

in  spring  ; 
Or  whether  I  go  among  those  I  like  best,  and  that  like 

me  best — mechanics,  boatmen,  farmers, 
Or  among  the  savans  —  or  to  the  soiree  —  or  to  the 

opera, 
Or  stand  a  long  while  looking  at  the  movements  of 

machinery, 

Or  behold  children  at  their  sports, 
Or  the  admirable  sight  of  the  perfect  old  man,  or  the 

perfect  old  woman, 

Or  the  sick  in  hospitals,  or  the  dead  carried  to  burial, 
Or  my  own  eyes  and  figure  in  the  glass  ; 
These,  with  the  rest,  one  and  all,  are  to  me  miracles, 
The   whole    referring  —  yet   each   distinct,  and  in  its 

place. 

2  To  me,  every  hour  of  the  light  and  dark  is  a  mir 

acle, 
Every  cubic  inch  of  space  is  a  miracle, 


LEAVES  or  GEASS.  103 

Every  square  yard  of  the  surface  of  the  earth  is  spread 

with  the  same, 

Every  foot  of  the  interior  swarms  with  the  same  ; 
Every  spear  of  grass — the  frames,  limbs,  organs,  of  men 

and  women,  and  all  that  concerns  them, 
All  these  to  me  are  unspeakably  perfect  miracles. 

3  To  me  the  sea  is  a  continual  miracle  ; 

The  fishes  that  swim— the  rocks — the  motion  of  the 

waves — the  ships,  with  men  in  them, 
What  stranger  miracles  are  there  ? 


SPARKLES  FROM  THE  WHEEL. 


WHERE  the  city's  ceaseless  crowd  moves  on,  the  live 
long  day,_ 

Withdrawn,  I  join  a  group  of  children  watching — I 
pause  aside  with  them. 

By  the  curb,  toward  the  edge  of  the  flagging, 

A  knife-grinder  works  at  his  wheel,  sharpening  a  great 

knife  ;    . 
Bending  over,  he  carefully  holds  it  to  the  stone — by 

foot  and  knee, 
With  measur'd  tread,  he  turns  rapidly — As  he  presses 

with  light  but  firm  hand, 
Forth  issue,  then,  in  copious  golden  jets, 
Sparkles  from  the  wheeL 


The  scene,  and  all  its  belongings — how  they  seize  and 
affect  me ! 

The  sad,  sharp-chinn'd  old  man,  with  worn  clothes,  and 
broad  shoulder-band  of  leather  ; 

Myself,  effusing  and  fluid — a  phantom  curiously  float 
ing — now  here  absorb'd  and  arrested  ; 


104  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

The  group,  (an  unminded  point,  set  in  a  vast  surround 
ing  ;) 

The  attentive,  quiet  children — the  loud,  proud,  restive 
base  of  the  streets  ; 

The  low,  hoarse  purr  of  the  whirling  stone — the  light- 
press'd  blade, 

Diffusing,  dropping,  sideways-darting,  in  tiny  showers 
of  gold, 

Sparkles  from  the  wheel. 


EXCELSIOR. 

WHO  has  gone  farthest  ?  For  lo !  have  not  I  gone  far 
ther? 

And  who  has  been  just  ?  For  I  would  be  the  most  just 
person  of  the  earth  ; 

And  who  most  cautious  ?  For  I  would  be  more  cau 
tious  ; 

And  who  has  been  happiest  ?  O  I  think  it  is  I !  I  think 
no  one  was  ever  happier  than  I ; 

And  who  has  lavished  all  ?  For  I  lavish  constantly  the 
best  I  have  ; 

And  who  has  been  firmest  ?  For  I  would  be  firmer  ; 

And  who  proudest  ?  For  I  think  I  have  reason  to  be 
the  proudest  son  alive — for  I  am  the  son  of  the 
brawny  and  tall-topt  city  ; 

And  who  has  been  bold  and  true  ?  For  I  would  be  the 
boldest  and  truest  being  of  the  universe  ; 

And  who  benevolent  ?  For  I  would  show  more  benevo 
lence  than  all  the  rest ; 

And  who  has  projected  beautiful  words  through  the 
longest  time  ?  Have  I  not  outvied  him  ?  have  I 
not  said  the  words  that  shall  stretch  through 
longer  time  ? 

And  who  has  receiv'd  the  love  of  the  most  friends  ?  For 
I  know  what  it  is  to  receive  the  passionate  love 
of  many  friends ; 


LEAVES  or  GRASS.  105 

And  who  possesses  a  perfect  and  enamour'd  body  ?  For 
I  do  not  believe  any  one  possesses  a  more  perfect 
or  enamour'd  body  than  mine  ; 

And  who  thinks  the  amplest  thoughts  ?  For  I  will  sur 
round  those  thoughts  ; 

And  who  has  made  hymns  fit  for  the  earth  ?  For  I  am 
mad  with  devouring  extasy  to  make  joyous  hymns 
for  the  whole  earth  ! 


MEDIUMS. 

THEY  shall  arise  in  the  States  ; 

They  shall  report  Nature,  laws,  physiology,  and  happi 
ness  ; 

They  shall  illustrate  Democracy  and  the  kosmos  ; 

They  shall  be  alimentive,  amative,  perceptive  ; 

They  shall  be  complete  women  and  men — their  pose 
brawny  and  supple,  their  drink  water,  their 
blood  clean  and  clear  ; 

They  shall  enjoy  materialism  and  the  sight  of  products 
— they  shall  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  beef,  lumber, 
bread-stuffs,  of  Chicago,  the  great  city  ; 

They  shall  train  themselves  to  go  in  public  to  become 
orators  and  oratresses  ; 

Strong  and  sweet  shall  their  tongues  be — poems  and 
materials  of  poems  shall  come  from  their  lives — 
they  shall  be  makers  and  finders  ; 

Of  them,  and  of  their  works,  shall  emerge  divine  con 
veyers,  to  convey  gospels  ; 

Characters,  events,  retrospections,  shall  be  convey'd  in 
gospels — Trees,  animals,  waters,  shall  be  con 
vey'd, 

Death,  the  future,  the  invisible  faith,  shall  all  be  con 
vey'd. 


106  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

KOSMOS. 

WHO  includes  diversity,  and  is  Nature, 

AVho  is  the  amplitude  of  the  earth,  and  the  coarseness 
and  sexuality  of  the  earth,  and  the  great  charity 
of  the  earth,  and  the  equilibrium  also, 

Who  has  not  looked  forth  from  the  windows,  the  eyes, 
for  nothing,  or  whose  brain  held  audience  with 
messengers  for  nothing  ; 

Who  contains  believers  and  disbelievers — Who  is  the 
most  majestic  lover  ; 

Who  holds  duly  his  or  her  triune  proportion  of  real 
ism,  spiritualism,  and  of  the  aesthetic,,  or  intel 
lectual, 

Who,  having  consider'd  the  Body,  finds  all  its  organs 
and  parts  good ; 

Who,  out  of  the  theory  of  the  earth,  and  of  his  or  her 
body,  understands  by  subtle  analogies  all  other 
theories, 

The  theory  of  a  city,  a  poem,  and  of  the  large  politics 
of  These  States  ; 

Who  believes  not  only  in  our  globe,  with  its  sun  and 
moon,  but  in  other  globes,  with  their  suns  and 
moons  ; 

Who,  constructing  the  house  of  himself  or  herself,  not 
for  a  day,  but  for  all  time,  sees  races,  eras,  dates, 
generations, 

The  past,  the  future,  dwelling  there,  like  space,  insep 
arable  together. 


TO  A  PUPIL. 

1  Is  reform  needed  ?  Is  it  through  you  ? 

The  greater  the  reform  needed,  the  greater  the  person 
ality  you  need  to  accomplish  it. 

2  You  !  do  you  not  see  how  it  would  serve  to  have  eyes, 

blood,  complexion,  clean  and  sweet  ? 


LEAVES  OF  GEASS.  107 

Do  you  not  see  how  it  would  serve  to  have  such  a  Body 
and  Soul,  that  when  you  enter  the  crowd,  an 
atmosphere  of  desire  and  command  enters  with 
you,  and  every  one  is  impress'd  with  your  per 
sonality  ? 

3  O  the  magnet !  the  flesh  over  and  over ! 

Go,  dear  friend !  if  need  be,  give  up  all  else,  and  com 
mence  to-day  to  inure  yourself  to  pluck,  reality, 
self-esteem,  definiteness,  elevatedness  ; 

Best  not,  till  you  rivet  and  publish  yourself  of  your 
own  personality. 


WHAT  AM  I,  AFTER  ALL. 

1  WHAT  am  I,  after  all,  but  a  child,  pleas'd  with  the 
sound  of  my  own  name  ?  repeating  it  over  and 
over  ; 

1  stand  apart  to  hear — it  never  tires  me. 

2  To  you,  your  name  also; 

Did  you  think  there  was  nothing  but  two  or  three  pro 
nunciations  in  the  sound  of  your  name  ? 


OTHERS  MAY  PRAISE  WHAT  THEY  LIKE. 

OTHERS  may  praise  what  they  like  ; 

But  I,  from  the  banks  of  the  running  Missouri,  praise 

nothing,  in  art,  or  aught  else, 
Till  it  has  well  inhaled  the  atmosphere  of  this  river — 

also  the  western  prairie-scent, 
And  fully  exudes  it  again. 


I  OS  PASSAGE  TO  ISDIA. 

|3^-  To  any  Hospital  or  Sckool-Fottxdfr,  or  Public  Btmfictery,  onyw&ert. 

BROTHER  OF  ALL,  WITH   GENEROUS   HAND. 

(G.  P-,  Buried February*  1870.) 


1  BBOTHEE  of  aH,  with  generous  hand, 

Of  thee,  pondering  on  thee,  as  o'er  thy  tomb,  I  and  my 

Soul, 

A  thought  to  launch  in  memory  of  thee, 
A  burial  verse  for  thee. 

5  "What  may  we  chant,  O  thou  within  this  tomb  ? 
What  tablets,  pictures,  hang  for  thee,  O  millionaire  ? 
—  The  life  thou  lived'st  we  know  not, 
But  that  thou  walk'dst  thy  years  in  barter,  'mid  the 

haunts  of  brokers  ; 
heroism  thine,  nor  war,  nor  glory. 


8  Yet  lingering,  yearning,  joining  soul  with  thine, 
If  not  thy  past  we  chant,  we  chant  the  future, 
Select,  adorn  the  future. 


4  Lo,  Soul,  the  graves  of  hero 

The  pride  of  lands — the  gratitudes  of  men, 

The  statues  of  thje  manifold  famous  dead.  Old  World 

and  X: 
The  kings,  inventors,  generals,  poets,  (stretch  wide  thy 

vision,  SouL) 
The  excellent   rulers  of  the  races,  great  discoverers, 

sailors, 
Marble   and    brass  select  from  them,   with  pictures, 

scenes, 

(The  histories  of  the  lands,  the  races,  bodied  there, 
In  what  they've  built  ^or,  graced  and  graved, 
Monuments" to  their  heroes.) 


ES  or  GRASS.  109 

3 

5  Silent,  my  Soul, 

With  drooping  lids,  as  waiting,  ponder'd, 
Turning  from  all  the  samples,  all  the  monuments  of 
heroes. 

6  TVhile  through  the  interior  vistas, 

Noiseless  uprose,  pliantasmic,  (as,  by  night,  Auroras  of 

the  North,) 

Lambent  tableaux,  prophetic,  bodiless  scenes, 
Spiritual  projections. 

7  In  one,  among  the  city  streets,  a  laborer's  home  ap- 

pear'd. 

After  his  day's  work  done,  cleanly,  sweet-air'd,  the  gas 
light  burning, 

The  carpet  swept,  and  a  fire  in  the  cheerful  stove, 

s  In  one,  the  sacred  parturition  scene, 

A  happy,  painless  mother  birth'd  a  perfect  child. 

9  In  one,  at  a  bounteous  morning  meal, 
Sat  peaceful  parents,  with  contented  sons. 

10  In  one,  by  twos  and  threes,  young  people, 
Hundreds  concentering,  walk'd  the  paths  and  streets 

and  roads, 
Toward  a  tall-domed  school 

11  In  one  a  trio,  beautiful, 

Grandmother,     loving    daughter,    loving    daughters 

daughter,  sat, 
Chatting  and  sewing. 

12  In  one,  along  a  suite  of  noble  rooms, 

^^lid  plenteous  books  and  journals,  paintings  on  the 

walls,  fine-  statut : 
"Were  groups  of  friendly  journeymen,  mechanics,  young 

and  old, 
Reading,  conversing. 


110  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

13  All,  all  the  shows  of  laboring  life, 

City  and  country,  women's,  men's  and  children's, 
Their  wants  provided  for,  hued  in  the  sun,  and  tinged 

for  once  with  joy, 
Marriage,  the  street,  the  factory,  farm,  the  house-room, 

lodging-room, 
Labor   and  toil,   the   bath,   gymnasium,  play-ground, 

library,  college, 

The  student,  boy  or  girl,  led  forward  to  be  taught ; 
The   sick   cared   for,    the   shoeless    shod — the   orphan 

father'd  and  mother'd, 
The  hungry  fed,  the  houseless  housed  ; 
(The  intentions  perfect  and  divine, 
The  workings,  details,  haply  human.) 

4 

14  O  thou  within  this  tomb, 

From  thee,  such  scenes — thou  stintless,  lavish  Giver, 

Tallying  the  gifts  of  Earth — large  as  the  Earth, 

Thy  name  an  Earth,  with  mountains,  fields  and  rivers. 

15  Nor  by  your  streams  alone,  you  rivers, 
By  you,  your  banks,  Connecticut, 

By  you,  and  all  your  teeming  life,  Old  Thames, 

By  you,  Potomac,  laving  the  ground  Washington  trod 

— by  you  Patapsco,  • 
You,  Hudson — you,   endless   Mississippi — not  by  you 

alone, 
But  to  the  high  seas  launch,  my  thought,  his  memory. 

5 

16  Lo,  Soul,  by  this  tomb's  lambency, 

The  darkness  of  the  arrogant  standards  of  the  world, 
"With  all  its  flaunting  aims,  ambitions,  pleasures. 

17  (Old,  commonplace,  and  rusty  saws, 

The  rich,  the  gay,  the  supercilious,  smiled  at  long, 
Now,  piercing  to  the  marrow  in  my  bones, 
Fused  with  each  drop  my  heart's  blood  jets, 
Swim  in  ineffable  meaning.) 


LEAVES  OF  GEASS.  Ill 

18  Lo,  Soul,  the  sphere  requireth,  portioneth, 
To  each  his  share,  his  measure, 

The   moderate    to    the    moderate,   the   ample   to   the 
ample. 

19  Lo,  Soul,  see'st  thou  not,  plain  as  the  sun, 
The  only  real  wealth  of  wealth  in  generosity, 
The  only  life  of  life  in  goodness  ? 


NIGHT  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

1  NIGHT  on  the  prairies  ; 

The  supper  is  over — the  fire  on  the  ground  burns  low  ; 

The  wearied  emigrants  sleep,  wrapt  in  their  blankets  : 

1  walk  by  myself — I  stand  and  look  at  the  stars,  which 

I  think  now  I  never  realized  before. 

2  Now  I  absorb  immortality  and  peace, 
I  admire  death,  and  test  propositions. 

3  How  plenteous  !  How  spiritual !  How  resume  ! 

The  same  Old  Man  and  Soul — the  same  old  aspirations, 
and  the  same  content. 

4  I  was  thinking  the  day  most  splendid,  till  I  saw  what 

the  not-day  exhibited, 

I  was  thinking  this  globe  enough,  till  there  sprang  out 
so  noiseless  around  me  myriads  of  other  globes. 

6  Now,  while  the  great  thoughts  of  space  and  eternity 
fill  me,  I  will  measure  myself  by  them  ; 

And  now,  touch'd  with  the  lives  of  other  globes,  arrived 
as  far  along  as  those  of  the  earth, 

Or  waiting  to  arrive,  or  pass'd  on  farther  than  those  of 
the  earth, 


112  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

I  henceforth  no  more  ignore  them,  than  I  ignore  my 

own  life, 
Or  the  Hves  of  the  earth  arrived  as  far  as  mine,   or 

waiting  to  arrive. 

6  O  I  see  now  that  life  cannot  exhibit  all  to  me — as  the 

day  cannot, 
I  see  that  I  am  to  wait  for  what  will  be  exhibited  by 

death. 


ON  JOURNEYS  THROUGH  THE  STATES. 

1  ON  journeys  through  the  States  we  start, 
(Ay,  through  the  world — urged  by  these  songs, 
Sailing  henceforth  to  every  land — to  every  sea  ;) 
We,  willing  learners  of  all,  teachers  of  all,  and  lovers 
of  all. 


2  We  have  watch'd  the  seasons  dispensing  themselves, 

and  passing  on, 

We  have  said,  Why  should  not  a  man  or  woman  do  as 
much  as  the  seasons,  and  effuse  as  much  ? 

3  We  dwell  a  while  in  every  city  and  town  ; 

We  pass  through  Kanada,  the  north-east,  the  vast  valley 

of  the  Mississippi,  and  the  Southern  States  ; 
We  confer  on  equal  terms  with  each  of  The  States, 
We  make  trial  of  ourselves,  and  invite  men  and  women 

to  hear ; 
We  say  to  ourselves,  Eem ember,  fear  not,  be  candid, 

•  promulge  the  body  and  the  Soul ; 
Dwell  a  while  and  pass  on— Be  copious,  temperate, 

chaste,  magnetic, 
And  what  you  effuse  may  then  return  as  the  seasons 

return, 
And  may  be  just  as  much  as  the  seasons. 


LEAVES  OF  GRASS.  113 

SAVANTISM. 

THITHER,  as  I  look,  I  see  each  result  and  glory  retracing 
itself  and  nestling  close,  always  obligated  ; 

Thither  hours,  months,  years — thither  trades,  compacts, 
establishments,  even  the  most  minute ; 

Thither  every-day  life,  speech,  utensils,  politics,  per 
sons,  estates  ; 

Thither  we  also,  I  with  my  leaves  and  songs,  trustful, 
admirant, 

As  a  father,  to  his  father  going,  takes  his  children 
along  with  him. 


LOCATIONS   AND    TIMES. 

LOCATIONS  and  times — what  is  it  in  me  that  meets  them 
all,  whenever  and  wherever,  and  makes  me  at 
home? 

Forms,  colors,  densities,  odors — what  is  it  in  me  that 
corresponds  with  them  ? 


THOUGHT. 

OF  Equality — As  if  it  harm'd  me,  giving  others  .the 
same  chances  and  rights  as  myself — As  if  it 
were  not  indispensable  to  my  own  rights  that 
others  possess  the  same. 


OFFERINGS. 

A  THOUSAND  perfect  men  and  women  appear, 
Around  each  gathers  a  cluster  of  friends,  and  gay  chil 
dren  and  youths,  with  offerings. 


114  LEAVES  OF  GRASS. 

TESTS. 

ALL  submit  to  them,  where  they  sit,  inner,  secure, 
unapproachable  to  analysis,  in  the  Soul ; 

Not  traditions — not  the  outer  authorities  are  the  judges 
— they  are  the  judges  of  outer  authorities,  and 
of  all  traditions  ; 

They  corroborate  as  they  go,  only  whatever  corrobo 
rates  themselves,  and  touches  themselves  ; 

For  all  that,  they  have  it  forever  in  themselves  to  cor 
roborate  far  and  near,  without  one  exception. 


THE  TORCH. 

ON  my  northwest  coast  in  the  midst  of  the  night,  a 
fishermen's  group  stands  watching  ; 

Out  on  the  lake,  that  expands  before  them,  others  are 
spearing  salmon  ; 

The  canoe,  a  dim  shadowy  thing,  moves  across  the 
black  water, 

Bearing  a  Torch  a-blaze  at  the  prow. 


TO  YOU. 

LET  us  twain  walk  aside  from  the  rest ; 

Now  we  are  together  privately,  do  you  discard  cere 
mony  ; 

Come !  vouchsafe  to  me  what  has  yet  been  vouchsafed 
to  none — Tell  me  the  whole  story, 

Let  us  talk  of  death — unbosom  all  freely, 

Tell  me  what  you  would  not  tell  your  brother,  wife, 
husband,  or  physician. 


PASSAGE  TO  INDIA.  115 


GODS. 

i 

THOUGHT  of  the  Infinite — the  All ! 
Be  thou  ray  God. 

2 

Lover  Divine,  and  Perfect  Comrade ! 
Waiting,  content,  invisible  yet,  but  certain, 
Be  thou  my  God. 

3 

Thou — thou,  the  Ideal  Man  ! 
Fair,  able,  beautiful,  content,  and  loving, 
Complete  in  Body,  and  dilate  in  Spirit, 
Be  thou  my  God. 

4 

O  Death — (for  Life  has  served  its  turn  ;) 
Opener  and  usher  to  the  heavenly  mansion ! 
Be  thou  my  God. 

5 

Aught,   aught,  of  mightiest,  best,  I  see,  conceive,  or 

know, 

(To  break  the  stagnant  tie — thee,  thee  to  free,  O  Soul,) 
Be  thou  my  God. 

6 

Or  thee,  Old  Cause,  whene'er  advancing ; 
All  great  Ideas,  the  races'  aspirations, 
All  that  exalts,  releases  thee,  my  Soul  I 
All  heroisms,  deeds  of  rapt  enthusiasts, 
Be  ye  my  Gods ! 

7 

Or  Time  and  Space ! 

Or  shape  of  Earth,  divine  and  wondrous ! 

Or  shape  in  I  myself—  or  some  fair  shape,  I,  viewing, 

worship, 

Or  lustrous  orb  of  sun,  or  star  by  night, 
Be  ye  my  Gods. 


116  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

TO  ONE  SHORTLY  TO  DIE. 


1  FEOM  all  the  rest  I  single  out  you,  having  a  message 

for  you  : 
You  are  to  die — Let  others  tell  you  what  they  please,  I 

cannot  prevaricate, 

1  am  exact  and  merciless,  but  I  love  you — There  is  no 

escape  for  you. 

2  Softly  I  lay  my  right  hand  upon  you — you  just  feel  it, 
I  do  not  argue — I  bend  my  head  close,  and  half  en 
velop  it, 

I  sit  quietly  by — I  remain  faithful, 
I  am  more  than  nurse,  more  than  parent  or  neighbor, 
I  absolve  you  from  all  except  yourself,  spiritual,  bodily 
— that  is  eternal — you  yourself  will  surely  escape, 
The  corpse  you  will  leave  will  be  but  excrementitious. 

2 

3  The  sun  bursts  through  in  unlooked-for  directions ! 
Strong  thoughts  fill  you,  and  confidence  — you  smile ! 
You  forget  you  are  sick,  as  I  forget  you  are  sick, 

You  do  not  see  the  medicines — you  do  not  mind  the 
weeping  friends — I  am  with  you, 

I  exclude  others  from  you — there  is  nothing  to  be  com 
miserated, 

I  do  not  commiserate — I  congratulate  you. 


Now  FINALE  TO  THE  SHORE. 


NOW  FINALE  TO  THE   SHORE. 

Now  finale  to  the  shore  ! 

Now,  land  and  life,  finale,  and  farewell ! 

Now  Voyager  depart !  (much,  much  for  thee  is  yet  in 

store  ;) 

Often  enough  hast  thou  adventur'd  o'er  the  seas, 
Cautiously  cruising,  studying  the  charts, 
Duly  again  to  port,  and  hawser's  tie,  returning  : 
— But  now  obey  thy  cherish'd,  secret  wish, 
Embrace  thy  friends — leave  all  in  order  ; 
To  port,  and  /hawser's  tie,  no  more  returning, 
Depart  upon  thy  endless  cruise,  old  Sailor ! 


SHUT  NOT  YOUR  DOORS,  &c. 

SHUT  not  your  doors  to  me,  proud  libraries, 

For  that  which  was  lacking  on  all  your  well-fill'd 
shelves,  yet  needed  most,  I  bring  ; 

Forth  from  the  army,  the  war  emerging — a  book  I 
have  made, 

The  words  of  my  book  nothing — the  drift  of  it  every 
thing  ; 


118  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

A  book  separate,  not  link'd  with  the  rest,  nor  felt  by 

the  intellect, 

But  you,  ye  untold  latencies,  will  thrill  to  every  page  ; 
Through  Space  and  Time  fused  in  a  chant,  and  the 

flowing,  eternal  Identity, 
To  Nature,  encompassing  these,  encompassing  God — 

to  the  joyous,  electric  All, 
To  the   sense   of  Death — and  accepting,    exulting  in 

Death,  in  its  turn,  the  same  as  life, 
The  entrance  of  Man  I  sing. 


THOUGHT. 

As  they  draw  to  a  close, 

Gf  what  underlies  the  precedent  songs — of  my  aims  in 

them  ; 

Of  the  seed  I  have  sought  to  plant  in  them  ; 
Of  joy,  sweet  joy,  through  many  a  year,  in  them  ; 
(For  them — for  them  have  I  lived — In  them  my  work 

is  done  ;) 
Of  many  an  aspiration  fond — of  many  a  dream  and 

plan, 
Of  you,  O  mystery  great ! — to  place  on  record  faith  in 

you,  O  death ! 

— To  compact  you,  ye  parted,  diverse  lives  ! 
To  put  rapport  the  mountains,  and  rocks,  and  streams, 
And  the  winds  of  the  north,  and  the  forests  of  oak  and 

pine, 
With  you,  O  soul  of  man. 


THE  UNTOLD  WANT. 

THE  untold  want,  by  life  and  land  ne'er  granted, 
Now,  Voyager,  sail  thou  forth,  to  seek  and  find. 


Now  FINALE  TO  THE  SHORE.  119 


PORTALS. 

WHAT  are  those  of  the  known,  but  to  ascend  and  enter 

the  Unknown  ? 
And  what  are  those  of  life,  but  for  Death  ? 


THESE  CAROLS. 

THESE  Carols,  sung  to  cheer  my  passage  through  the 

world  I  see, 
For  completion,  I  dedicate  to  the  Invisible  World. 


THIS  DAY,  O  SOUL. 

THIS  day,  O  Soul,  I  give  you  a  wondrous  mirror  ; 

Long  in  the  dark,  in  tarnish  and  cloiid  it  lay — But  the 
cloud  has  pass'd,  and  the  tarnish  gone  ; 

. .  .  Behold,  O  Soul !  it  is  now  a  clean  and  bright  mir 
ror, 

Faithfully  showing  you  all  the  things  of  the  world. 


WHAT  PLACE  IS  BESIEGED? 

WHAT  place  is  besieged,  and  vainly  tries  to  raise  the 
siege  ? 

Lo !  I  send  to  that  place  a  commander,  swift,  brave, 
immortal ; 

And  with  him  horse  and  foot— and  parks  of  artil 
lery, 

And  artillery-men,  the  deadliest  that  ever  fired  gun. 


120  Now  FINALE  TO  THE  SHORE. 


TO  THE  READER  AT  PARTING. 

Now,  dearest  comrade,  lift  me  to  your  face, 

We  must  separate  awliile — Here !  take  from  my  lips 

this  kiss  ; 

Whoever  you  are,  I  give  it  especially  to  you  ; 
So  long ! — And  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again. 


JOY,  SHIPMATE,  JOY ! 

JOY  !  shipmate — joy  ! 
(Pleas'd  to  my  Soul  at  death  I  cry  ;) 
Our  life  is  closed — our  life  begins  ; 
The  long,  long  anchorage  we  leave, 
The  ship  is  clear  at  last — she  leaps ! 
She  swiftly  courses  from  the  shore ; 
Joy!  shipmate — joy! 


Autograph  and  Portrait  Edition  of 


Complete  Works—  2   Volumes—  $10. 

Jg^^Including  the  entire  contents  of   all  the  former  Editions 
revised  to  date,  1876.  —  with  new  Pieces  —  Prose  and  Verse. 


LEAVES   OF   CRASS. 

Two  Portraits  from  life—  Whole  number  of  Poems,  195—  pp.  384. 

CONTENTS,  (partially)  : 


INSCRIPTIONS. 

Starting  from  Paumanok. 


"ft 


Walt  Whitman. 

CHILDREN  OF  ADAM. 

CALAMUS. 

Salut  au  Monde. 

Song  of  the  Broad-Axe. 

Song  of  the  Open  Road. 

THE  ANSWERER. 

TWO   RIVULETS. 

Prose  and  Verse — 350  pages — with  Photograph  from  life. 

CONTENTS: 


Carol  of  Occupations. 

Carol  of  Words. 

A  Broadway  Pageant. 

DRUM  TAPS. 

MARCHES  Now  THE  WAR  is 

OVER. 

BATHED  IN  WAR'S  PERFUME. 
SONGS  OF  INSURRECTION. 
SONGS  OF  PARTING. 


PREFACE. 
Two  RIVULETS. 
DEMOCRATIC  VISTAS. 


As  A  STRONG  BIRD  &c. 
MEMORANDA  OF  THE  WAR. 
PASSAGE  TO  INDIA. 

above  Vols.  well  bound  in  half  leather,  published  and 
for  sale  by  the  Author.     Apply  by  mail  (or  personally,)  to 

WALT    WHITMAN, 

CAMDEN,   N.  Jersey. 

flg^Send  plain  and  very  full  address.  On  receipt  of  price, 
(post  office  money  order,  preferable,)  copies  remitted  by  mail  or 
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JB^'Also  separata  copies,  (same  text  as  in  Two  KIVULETS,  but 
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Memoranda  During  the  War,  68  pages,  bound, $1*5O 

(Personal  Notes  of  the  Union  War,  written  at  the  time,  in  1868/4,  and  '5, 
amid  the  scenes  on  the  field  and  in  the  Hospital,  Washington  City,  Virginia,  Ac.) 

Democratic  Vistas,  84  pages,  paper, $1.OO 

4®-Author's  Autograph  in  every  Volume  above. 


